Two men stood face to face. Sherlock took in the stumpy stature and cane. Doctor, he deduced. His hands reached out to pinch at a bulky jumper. House stared at the new comer, at the curly black hair and dark eyes, along with the designer clothes. "Sherlock Holmes." The consulting detective says, not bothering to stop his wandering glance, sizing up the doctor for all he's worth.

"Dr. House."

"I shall call you Watson 2."

"Shut up, Fake Wilson."

Then, arm in arm, they strut off into the sunset, ready to wreak havoc.

"Did that really just happen?" The real Watson asks after a moment. Wilson nods.

"I think it just did."

There is a bang, a scream, and the sound of breaking glass.

"Wilson!"

"Watson!"

The two sidekicks look at each other and sigh. "We're not going after them." John says firmly.

"Right."

Sherlock yells out. "That hurts!"

John's face switches from pissed to worried.

"Hey don't touch the cane!" House demands. Wilson melts at the sound of police sirens. They spare another glance at each other before taking off in a sprint.

"Dammit, House, what did you do?"

"Sherlock, if somebody's dead I'm calling Mycroft!"