I do not own Sherlock Holmes or anything associated, no matter how much I would like to! Eventual slash, so if that offends you are more than welcome to stop reading at the little black bar.

"Holmes," said Watson, "I am going to marry Mary. And there's nothing you can do about it."

Sherlock Holmes blinked at his friend. "Is that a fact?"

"Most certainly."

Holmes paused, sucking idly on the end of his pipe. "No."

"No what?"

"No, it is not a fact. It is an assumption, and an incorrect one at that. There is plenty I could do about your pending marriage to Miss Mary if I had either the inclination or the imagination. As I have both it is not only possible but probable that I am capable of jeopardizing your marriage." He blew a puff of smoke in his friend's face. "… so there."

Watson heaved an exasperated sigh. "Please Holmes," he said. "Just leave this alone. For me."

"For you? Nonsense. I'm only doing this for you, you know."

"How could you possibly be doing this for my sake?" Watson demanded.

"You don't really want to marry Mary."

"Of course I want to marry Mary! What the hell do you think I'm standing here fighting with you for?"

"Fun?"

"You – " said Watson in tones of disbelief, " – are completely out of your mind!"

Their conversation was briefly interrupted by a loud thud as Gladstone suddenly stiffened and keeled over. Watson threw his hands in the air.

"Fantastic. You've killed the dog again."

"Not 'the' dog, my dog. You left, remember? It's my dog, my rooms, my beds, my closets, my…" Holmes struggled to think of another amenity that was now his. "Bathtub. And I have not killed the dog. I have never killed the dog." Watson raised an eyebrow. "Well. Maybe once. But he got better. However, at present I was merely testing out the effect of a slow acting poison."

"A new case?" Watson couldn't help himself; his interest was piqued.

"Indeed." Holmes glanced up at him. "Perhaps you could be of assistance?"

The corners of Watson's mouth twitched in an attempt to hide a smile. "Perhaps," he conceded.

"Splendid. Now, let us pretend I am the victim. Name – Marianne Dodson, age – approximately twenty-two years. I lay asleep on bed A." Holmes lay down on the ground to demonstrate. "Beside me sleep my sisters in beds B and C. I go to sleep in apparently perfect health. In the morning I am dead. The door is still locked, one window is open."

"Cause of death?"

"Strangulation."

"One would have to infer that Marianne was killed by a man coming through the open window."

"That is the logical conclusion. However, the window mentioned was three stories up. What's more, Marianne's bed was farthest from the window; it was highly unlikely that she would have woken up and seen the intruder, thus bringing about her death in that fashion. If the killer entered through the window it implies that he entered the room intent on murdering Marianne. And even then, it seems likely that her sisters would have woken during the struggle that would have occurred when Marianne woke – as she undoubtedly would, by all accounts the girl was a light sleeper – and felt the stranger's hands around her neck. No, there is a far simpler explanation."

"The sisters?"

"Ah1" said Holmes. "You have hit on it. Evidence seems to imply that Marianne was murdered by one of her two sisters. Now the youngest, Emily, takes a nightly sleeping draught which puts her in a state near comatose. Her mother and the maid confirm she took it the night of the crime. So the culprit seems to be the middle sister, Adela."

"So case closed?"

"Not quite. Marianne was by far the stoutest of her sisters. There is no doubt that she would have been able to fight Adela off. So how did she manage it?"

"How did she manage it Holmes?" asked Watson. "You seem rather keen not to tell me."

"Let us return to 11 o'clock the night of the crime," said Holmes, sitting up abruptly. "In attendance for dinner are Marianne, Mr. and Mrs. Dodson, her sisters Emily and Adela, and her fiancé, John Williams."

"Yes, well, she wasn't murdered at dinner, was she?"

"Observe. You are now Marianne."

"Why am I Marianne?"

"I am Mr. Williams," said Holmes, ignoring his friend and putting on a ridiculously deep voice. "Thank you for the lovely night, Marianne."

"Holmes, this is ridiculous."

"Watson, you will never learn anything if you constantly refuse opportunities!"

"All right." Watson gave the shorter man a poisonous glare. "Oh, Mr. Williams," he said in a trilling falsetto. "I'm so glad you enjoyed yourself."

"Now I'm going to kiss you good-night," announced Holmes.

Watson instinctively tried to back away. "Now –"

"How many times do I have to tell you that this is a practical demonstration? You, my friend, are not being very practical." And before Watson could say another word of protest, he leaned forward and planted a kiss on the other man's lips. He pulled back wearing a rather self-satisfied smile. "There. It is accomplished."

"What is?" asked Watson, clearly confused.

"The murder. The slow acting poison currently affecting my dog was administered to Miss Marianne by means of her fiance's lips. I smeared a salve of the paralysis inducing poison on my own lips, and passed it on to you just as John Williams did that night. Of course, he too was eventually affected, but was able to sleep off the effects without fear of murder. Meanwhile, the unfortunate Marianne was killed by her sister Adela, Williams' true lover. And that," concluded Holmes, tapping Watson lightly on the nose. "Is what comes of engagement."

"You're spouting nonsense again," said Watson, turning away. Then something seemed to occur to him. "Holmes?"

"Mm?"

"How long does it take that poison to act?"

"About an hour."

"So in an hour you and I are both going to be paralyzed."

Holmes gave a slight cough. "Er… yes. That seems about ri"ght."

"For how long?"

'You know, I'm not entirely sure."

"Holmes, I'm supposed to be meeting Mary for dinner!"

"How unfortunate."

"You're unbelievable!"

"I've been told so, yes."

"So you and I are going to be stuck here for God knows how long, just staring at the wall??"

Holmes frowned in consideration. "Yes, it would seem that is the case. Well, might as well make the most of it," he said cheerfully, sitting down on the edge of his bed. "I'm going to get some sleep."

"And what do you propose I do?" demanded Watson.

"Go and meet Mary, if you must," said Holmes, shutting his eyes.

"You don't think she'll noticed when I become slightly paralyzed?"

"Well, there's only the one bed," said Holmes, his eyes still closed. "I sold yours to the man who runs the butcher's shop down the road. Nice chap. Ears like cauliflowers."

Watson rolled his eyes. "Oh, scoot over."

"I will not."

Watson shoved his friend toward the wall and climbed into the bed beside him. "Now we wait?" he asked.

"Precisely," said Holmes, smiling to himself.

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