Hello people, so it's been a while again... I had this written weeks ago but I didn't have internet at home and there's a bit I don't really like etc, etc... enough excuses...

Written because I was bored and my house-mate implanted the idea in my head (blame her). As with my other Merlin/Sherlock fic I'm not overly fond of the ending but CBA to change it. Also my main method of gauging personalities - which is watching videos of the character on YouTube - was hindered by my previous lack of internet and again I CBA to change anything now, so I apologise for OOCness (especially of the Dragon whom I've never written before). I also apologise for any mistakes, my proofreading is shoddy at best.

Disclaimer: the title is from Harry Potter, the original idea is from my house-mate, the characters belong to the BBC and Arthur Conan Doyle... so I really have nothing... absolutely nothing...

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It is a strange thing that a man or woman might be conditioned in such a way that he or she will fail to register a suitable level of surprise at the most astounding of events. It is probably safe to say that one such person is John Watson, you the reader might have heard of him; he writes a blog detailing the numerous adventures of Sherlock Holmes, the world's only Consulting Detective. These adventures – when read by somebody who has never before encountered the genius detective – have enough of an air of implausibility about them that it can be assumed that it is this mad man and his impossible nature that has immunised Dr Watson to that which would shock the ordinary civilian.

The best example of this does not regard the placing of human remains in unlikely house hold appliances or brilliant connections of seemingly irrelevant details as one who is unfortunately familiar with Sherlock Holmes' behaviour might conclude. In fact it concerns a dragon, a really big dragon… with some rather large teeth.

It was mid-May when the incident occurred, a perfectly normal day in which Sherlock had been so astonishingly brilliant that John was forced to leave the flat to prevent himself punching the detective in the face with – ahem – awe. It was as his head had started to clear that he realised that he was in an entirely unfamiliar section of London, so unfamiliar in fact that it was doubtful that the forest he was in could claim any affiliation with the capital city, he really should stop taking public transport when he was too angry to read the destinations (did I say angry? I meant awestruck… probably) it didn't help that the only real landmark he could see between the trees was a large dark gold mound. On the basis that he would still be lost no matter what direction he went in and that a large gold mound had the potential to be very interesting indeed, he decided to head towards it (it also makes this story longer and probably less boring, although that is for you to judge) and in doing so he accidently tripped over a longer thinner segment of the mound.

It is this moment that marks Captain Dr John Hamish Watson as almost unique, whilst you and I might produce some form of loud exclamation at finding what we previously thought of as an inanimate object has the power to move, talk and breathe fire, indeed, in finding that one has just stepped on the tail of a dragon that is bigger than the house one lives in it is perfectly acceptable to scream and run away. Watson however, merely uttered a quiet "Huh." And gazed with the interest of a shepherd watching the turn of the stars as the mound unfurled itself, taking on a more clichéd, yet still dramatic pose with wings outstretched and head stooped to enable it to more easily view its aggravator.

"Well, human, why have you come here?" The creature sounded mildly annoyed as would be expected of anyone recently roused from a long slumber.

"OK, a dragon… a large, talking dragon… that's not weird at all" John muttered under his breath, to the dragon he said: "I was lost. And I think I might have been drugged." It was not the first, and would probably not be the last time that John suspected his flatmate of dosing him with hallucinogens. At least last time Sherlock had admitted to it – eventually. "Excuse me a moment." He pulled his mobile from his pocket with all intention of sending a series of angry texts at the infuriating man but to his disappointment discovered that there was a distinct lack of signal towers in the area.

"What is that device, child?" Asked the dragon peering curiously at the comparatively miniscule phone in the doctor's hands.

"I'm not going to talk to a hallucination. And I'm not a child, I might live with one, but I can put on my own socks now thank you." Said John, whilst continuing to wave his phone about him in the well-practiced dance to find any trace of a signal.

The dragon was getting increasingly irritated, not only did this mortal creature have the arrogance to raise him from his prolonged sleep, but it continued to ignore and rebuff him! In the better days when magic was not considered a pleasant fantasy he might have incinerated the small man where he stood. But it had been a long time since he had had conversed with anyone and the bored dragon saw no harm in permitting the human to live a little longer, he was waving the small black object in a most amusing fashion after all.

After a time John gave up on finding signal and turned his attention back to the remarkably convincing hallucination. He was certain that had Sherlock been here he would have wanted to take notes or even bundle him into the nearest MRI machine, it was amazing the sort of equipment you could gain access to if you were willing to steal the identity card of the most powerful man in Britain. He could see every scale, hear every breath. If he were to reach out he would probably feel the rough texture of the thing's lizard-like skin. It really was incredible. Had he said that out loud?

It was obvious in the way the dragon preened itself that he had, although seeing as it was an image produced by his intoxicated subconscious it would probably respond to his unvoiced thoughts anyway.

"You think me incredible and yet you refuse to speak with me. You are most certainly an unusual specimen." Kilgharrah responded, disregarding his budding anger in favour of curiosity for this strange man.

"You should meet my flatmate, he defines unusual."

"Ah, I am worth speaking to. What changed your mind?"

"Well you're just a figment of my imagination so I am, essentially, just talking to myself, I would be concerned for my sanity but then I live with Sherlock Homes so that was already doubtful." John was starting to wonder if this was actually a dream, it was certainly strange enough, and with the distressing number of hazardous chemicals Sherlock handled on a near daily basis it was entirely plausible that his dreams had been corrupted by one of his friend's strange concoctions.

That idea was dismissed a moment later when the dragon gave a roar of fury and sent a jet of incandescent flame a little too close to the top of John's head, singeing the hair there quite painfully. "I am NOT an illusion or trick of your impeded mind! I am the Great Dragon, who was friend to the greatest sorcerer that will ever live! If you deny my presence once more I will turn you into ash!" For a hallucination it was really rather alarming, for the first time John whished that he had brought his gun. Even if bullets couldn't hurt a delusion it would at least make him feel better. "Well mortal?" it continued, "what have you to say for yourself."

"Prove it." It may have been the two most idiotic words the doctor had ever spoken.

"Why should I? I have fought and killed kings and creatures of nightmare that would have reduced you to a whimpering child. For what reason would I explain myself to a halfwit that refuses to believe his own senses and has not yet understood the purpose for which he was given eyes!?" It was a rather good impersonation of Sherlock, but the blistered skin on John's scalp was warning enough not to remark so.

"Well that was certainly conclusive. There's no way I can debate against such a well-structured argument." It was lucky that Kilgharrah missed the sarcasm in the doctor's voice, and the way John had rolled his eyes as there might have been more damage done than a few burnt hairs.

"Now that that has been agreed upon you can return to my question, what was that devise you were so intent upon waving in my face?"

The doctor once more retrieved the phone from his trouser pocket and held it up for the dragon to inspect. "It's a mobile telephone. You can call people with it and it does some other very clever things. They've been around for a while now." A dragon was asking his to explain his mobile… sure why not? It was less messy than severed thumbs in the fridge.

"I have slept through these last few centuries; it would seem that I have missed much. What magic powers it?" The rage that had fuelled the massive creature had quickly dissipated to be once more replaced by simple curiosity.

"Nope, no magic, electricity. The flow of electrons produces power or something like that." It was times like this when John was faced with a dragon asking him to explain how a mobile phone worked that he started to wish that he had paid more attention in A-level Physics. He had previously operated under the assumption that his phone, and for that matter his laptop, knew what they were doing and would either notify him when something went wrong or break down and melt into a puddle of plastic and metal. This philosophy had served him well in the past having had no reason to have to describe the working of a LCD screen, he still wasn't entirely sure what pixels were… or what LCD stood for, for that matter.

"What is your name human?" asked the dragon apparently already bored of the new technology.

"Watson. Dr John Watson."

"Ah a physician? I knew a physician once."

Feeling on a sounder footing with this topic John felt safe to ask: "Oh really? What was he like?"

"He was a traitor to his kind and did nothing to prevent the slaughter of thousands." Responded Kilgharrah with an old bitterness tainting his voice "but he made up for it in the end." He added in more gentle tones

"Oh, oh right, so umm…" but he did not get chance to think of a suitable response before the dragon reared, spreading its wings in preparation for flight.

"I hope we meet again Dr John Watson." Was all that the creature said before it took off John once more lost and alone.

It took the doctor the better part of a day to find his way back to Baker Street. Stopping of briefly en route to give Molly Hooper a blood sample to test for any and all mind altering drugs she could think of.

To his frustration Sherlock Holmes never worked out the reason his friends hair was singed.

The test results came back negative.

Over the next year there were six reported sightings of a dragon-like animal, these were dismissed by a certain consulting detective as a hoax.