Okay, this is a little story that popped up in my head about a month ago... it was just out of nowhere. So, I understand if this may seem kinda weird, but oh well. Please R&R, and..

Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Sherlock Holmes... but I wish I could meet him for REALZ

Grey. That was the only way to describe the day in London. Everything felt grey: the sky, the streets, even the people seemed a little grey. The only thing to top it off was a little rain, which looked like was going to happen. It was sometime in the late afternoon, probably three or four o'clock. Things that day were just one of those boring, grey days. Watson walked down the dark, quiet streets, leash in one hand and the other in the pocket of his coat. Gladstone hobbled along on his stubby legs, drooling as he went. John turned the corner to Baker street, already seeing the familiar door of his best friend's flat. Watson should have smiled that day, going to visit Sherlock Holmes... but nothing could make him smile on THAT day. He walked up the concrete steps after Gladstone, taking out a key. He put it in the lock on the door, turned the key, and pushed the dark door open. It slowly opened, creating an eerie creaking noise. Watson stepped inside, un-hooking the leash on Gladstone. The drooling bulldog ran off, just about sliding into the wall as he tried to turn into a room.

'Probably going to drool on Mrs. Hudson... again.' Watson figured, the thought making him conceal a little smile. He took off his brown top hat and coat, hanging them on the coat hanger by the staircase. John looked up at the ceiling, noticing things were very quiet...

'Hm.. usually Holmes is doing something loud..' Watson walked up the stairs to see what the detective was up to. Every step echoed through the flat, making everything seem ghostly and empty. He walked up to the door, and opened it easily.

'Strange.. he usually locks it or blocks the door with something...' Watson thought, walking into the dark room. All the windows were covered up, and the air was filled with smoke. In the darkness, Watson could make out the still form of Sherlock Holmes, curled up on the couch, back facing him. Watson walked closer, rolling his eyes. "You lazy cow." He muttered. But something wasn't right. Watson squinted his eyes, and noticed that Holmes was a little too still. Something in John made him start to worry, and rushed over to the quiet detective, turning him onto his back. That's where he saw the large, bloody gash going down Holmes' chest. It was gruesome looking, even in the dark, and blood was all over his body and the couch.

'It's not supposed to happen this way.' He thought, freaking out inside. Watson put his two fingers on the side of Sherlock's neck, checking his pulse. The next moment made him jump. Sherlock's eyes burst open, and he sat up.

"What are you doing!?" Holmes shouted in a surprised voice.

Watson just about jumped out of his skin. He fell back, right into the table in the center of the room. He hit his head pretty hard on the end of it, groaning. "Holmes!"

Sherlock chuckled, now sitting properly on the couch. "Realistic, don't you think?"

Watson rolled his eyes. "You just about gave me a heart attack." Watson looked at the 'blood' on Holmes' shirt. "And what is that?"

Holmes looked down at his shirt. "Oh, that's just a little concoction I've made. Nothing major." He said with a slight smile.

John slowly stood up, hand over the new bruise on his forehead. He had been pranked... again. When he had still lived with Holmes, every now and then he would be pranked by the detective, who would be half drunk and extremely bored to do so. Watson walked over to the window on the other side of the room, aiming right at Holmes. The doctor quickly pulled the curtains open, the light of day flashing into the room.

"Aagghh!" Holmes yelped, covered his face with his hands, blinded by the light. He fell back, over the back of the couch. He landed on his face with a loud thud, along with a few noises of glass breaking.

John smiled. Payback. "It's just a little light, Holmes." He teased. "Nothing major."

Holmes looked up over the back of the couch glaring. Then John remembered why he was there in the first place. His smile slowly faded, and Watson put his hands in his pockets. "Anyway."

Holmes stood up, and sat back on the couch. "Why are you here Watson?" He asked, still glaring a little.

"Just, checking up on you." John replied, glancing up at the detective.

"Well, I'll have you know that I'm doing just fine on my own, and I don't need to be checked up on!" Holmes snapped. He didn't even know what he was saying. He really missed Watson greatly, and couldn't help but snap. He lowered his eyes. "I mean... I'm fine."

Watson nodded.. even though he knew something wasn't right with his old friend. He slowly walked over, sitting down beside him. "So, how have thing been?" He asked, trying to change the subject.

"Just the same, with cases and such. But Mrs. Hudson seems different." Holmes replied, still staring at the ground.

John smiled. "What's wrong with her this time, Holmes?" He asked.

Sherlock answered, "I believe she is in a relationship..."

The doctor raised an eyebrow. "With who?"

"Some man from the Yard."

Almost on cue, the two began to laugh. But Watson's chuckle seemed to die off a bit quick as he glanced down at his feet.

Sherlock noticed something wasn't right with his old colleague, just not right at all. He put on a serious face and after a few moments of silence he asked calmly, "What is it, John?"

Watson scratched the back of his neck. He sighed and said, "I'm really sorry, Holmes..."

The detective raised an eyebrow. He had trained his colleague well, and he could never figure out his thoughts anymore. "About.. what?"

John drew a shaky breath, and Sherlock could've sworn he saw tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry... I'll regret this, but.."

This next moment took Sherlock by utter surprise. John suddenly had his revolver out, and pointed at him. Why didn't he see this coming..? Why was Watson doing this? 'Someone must be blackmailing him..' Holmes thought, before he looked up as he heard a click.

"Watson, what have you done?"

John swallowed hard, yet his shooting-hand was deadly still. "I.. I'm sorry."

Holmes put a hand up in front of him. "Watson, I can help you.." He said, trying to just get John to stop.

"You can't this time.."

Sherlock looked up at his companion with true fear, his eyes glistened with, wait...were those tears?

"John...please."

Bang!

Alright, that was it. If you'd like me to go on with this, just leave me a quick Review and I'll get going on it! Also check out my fic- 'Aaron Blaze: The accident of Imagination' Series. There should be one in...

-MoviesSweeney Todd

Anyways, thanks for Readin!

~Fox.