Ah, silly me! I forgot to put a disclaimer and all that in my first post. So without further adieu,

Disclaimer: I so don't own Sherlock Holmes and all involved, but man it would be fun if I did.

Thank you all so much to those who have already reviewed. I love reading them and you all are so kind. Of course I'm always open for more. Thanks!

The brief conversation with Irene was much shorter than Holmes would have liked. If the circumstances were not as they were then he should have delighted in matching wits with her, but as it was there were more important matters to attend to. One important matter to attend to. Watson's cane. Or more precisely how did Blackwood become its holder? During Irene and Blackwood's altercation, the detective's keen eyes went instantly to the item in question. Its dark color, its unmistakable pattern about the handle, many times had Holmes absently gazed at this particular object and he had never known its owner to be without it. That then begs the question; if the cane is here, then where is Watson?

Holmes raced back through the tunnels that lay beneath parliament. Turning swiftly down each corridor, leading him to the exact chamber he wished to return to. Never had he been more thankful for his skill in the remembering of details than today, otherwise he would have been forced to waste precious time searching for the right passageway, and time, he knew, was of the essence. How could he have been so stupid! Watson had been injured not two days ago. His battle with Dredger would have left him weak, vulnerable to attack. Of course Blackwood would have come to inspect his machine and in so doing, he would have come upon a tired, nearly defenseless Watson (he would never call the good doctor completely defenseless in any form). Not believing Blackwood to be the type to travel without a gun, Holmes believed it was very possible that he could find his friend lying, undignified in the sewage with a bullet hole in the center of his forehead. Was it possible that he had been gutted with his own blade? Or did Dredger somehow get the upper-hand on his colleague. Honestly, what had he been thinking, leaving his closest friend behind while he chased some foolish woman? Holmes' mind raced with numerous imaginings of what may have befallen the good doctor, each one more terrifying than the last.

After what seemed an eternity, Holmes came to the last tunnel that would lead to the device and, hopefully, an answer to his mystery. He raced down the stone floor, turned the final corner and found…. Holmes stopped short as he nearly collided with a police officer. A great hoard of them were milling about, checking this wall here, looking at that brick there. It always amazed him at how easily they missed the important details so they could gaze at trivial nonsense. Normally Holmes would gladly have told them exactly what they were missing but now was not the time. He had to find Watson. He was so intent on his quest that he nearly missed his name being called from behind him.

"Holmes… Holmes sir," came the call. Holmes turned just in time to see Clarke race up to him. "Mr. Holmes, we were wondering where you had gotten to. We were hoping you could shed some light on exactly what happened here." Clarke gave a slight pause as he looked around Holmes, "Um… where is Lord Blackwood, sir?"

"What…Oh" Holmes was momentarily caught off guard. Honestly, how could this be more important than finding his Watson? "He is currently spending quality time with the birds under the newly made bridge. I will happily educate you on how he came to his current position later." He added after a quizzical look from the humble constable. "Now will you please tell me the whereabouts of Watson?"

Clarke gave Holmes a puzzled stare which did not please the restless detective. "I don't believe I've come across him sir. Was he not with you, sir?" The question fell on deaf ears as Holmes had already begun moving toward the center of the room and closer to the exit of the tunnels. Inexcusable! How could any inspector worth his salt not know such important information as the location of one Dr. John Watson? Unbelievable!

Holmes made his way out of the tunnels, into the open air of London. He quickly climbed the rocky terrain that led out onto the paved roadways where several coaches were milled about. Many calls came his way but he ignored every one of them. He was desperate now. His search had gone on far longer than he should have liked and the more time had passed, the more a disturbing sense of fear settled in the pit of Sherlock's stomach. He scanned his surroundings taking in every detail with one glance, and then zeroed in on the back of Inspector Lestrade's head. He pushed toward the man as fast as his legs would carry him, knowing of all people he was the only one he trusted to know Watson's location. He was just about to grab Lestrade by his collar when the inspector moved to the side to reveal a disheveled looking man who, although dirty, seemed no worse for wear. Watson sat on the edge of a wagon, twisting his left arm about, testing his previous injury. Upon seeing Holmes, he smiled locking his bright blue eyes with Holmes' brown ones. The detective had frozen on the spot. Of all the scenarios that played out in his mind this was the one he had least expected, yet had hoped for with all his heart.

"Hello old boy," said Watson's cheerful voice. It seemed as though he was just as relieved to see Holmes as vice versa. "I see you've found my cane. Good show old chap."

Holmes stared dumbfounded at the object in his hand. "Oh…yes" he stuttered out as he handed it to his companion. "Lord Blackwood was kind enough to return it." His voice was light but Watson could see the lines of worry that creased his forehead.

"You needn't fret old cock; I'm no more injured now than when this day began." He said, hoping to alleviate is friend's fears. The detective merely nodded, not truly convinced of to doctor's well being. However, seeing as the man in question was a doctor, Holmes new that Watson would not push himself too far simply to convince others that he was in good health, so for the time being he let the matter drop.

The two companions now sat in a carriage, pulling up onto Baker Street. Watson was examining his friend with a careful eye. The detective was worrying him, for although he made a grand elaboration of how he solved the case to the awestruck police force, he said very little afterward. Normally, having just solved a case, Holmes was in high spirits and delighted in taking the doctor out for a drink, but this time was different. He kept mostly to himself and looked lost in thought, as though he had been weighing a heavy decision over and over in his mind.

The cab came to a stop in front of the beloved sight of 221 B. Never had Watson been more delighted to see the old place that he was almost sorry to be leaving it in a short while. They had their fare share of tough cases before, but it seemed that this one had pushed them to their limits. It had been a long day and both men were dreadfully tired. Watson rubbed his injured shoulder, noticing Holmes' worried glance as he did so. After entering the humble abode they both began to ascend the steps, Holmes in front of Watson.

"Mr Holmes! Dr. Watson!" A shout from the hallway drew their attention. Mrs. Hudson came bustling down the corridor, practically in hysterics. "We have heard some of the most dreadful rumors coming from today's incident: Lord Blackwood spouting magic, Mr. Holmes in a fight to the death. We even heard that one of you yourselves may have died." She gave a little chuckle "Preposterous, I know." She gave them both a genuine smile but Holmes' face was stoic and even bordered on rage.

"Nanny, if you would excuse me I shall retire to my room." With that, Holmes was gone, racing up the stairs leaving two very confused people in his wake.

Mrs. Hudson was the first to recover, "My word, what has gotten into him?"

Watson gave her his best smile, "I'm sure he's just tired. It's been a long day for the both of us. Perhaps some tea would help calm his nerves, if you would be so kind."

The lady gave a quick nod "Of course sir, I'll bring it to you shortly."

"Thank you," Mrs. Hudson left for the kitchen, leaving Watson to ponder the situation. He knew it was more than just fatigue bothering his friend and he was determined to find out what it was, whether Holmes liked it or not. Watson made his way up to the living room to find Holmes sitting in a chair, smoking his pipe, and staring at some random point on the wall.

"I say, it seems we've come out on top today, haven't we." Watson began to take off his hat and coat, all the while noticing that Holmes had not so much as twitched to signal that he had heard the statement. "I'd call today a win. We saved parliament, stopped a murderer, and you even got the girl for a short while." It was infuriating Watson. Holmes hadn't spoken, hadn't nodded, hadn't even blinked since Watson had entered the room. "Listen Holmes," he went straight for the kill, "I don't know what is bothering you but you are driving me out of my mind. Could you at least say something, anything to let me know…"

"He had your cane!" Holmes blurted out. He looked at the doctor with such angry frustration that Watson was taken aback for a moment. It was then that Mrs. Hudson had entered with a tray containing tea and small biscuits from that evening's dinner. She took one look at the standoff between the two men and knew now was not the time to interrupt.

"I'll just set this up on the table here." She all but whispered and as quick as she could, backed out of the room. Watson acknowledged her with a nod, never taking his eyes off Holmes. They stared at each other a moment longer before Holmes decided to continue.

"Do you understand exactly what that could have meant? I have never known you to be without that most coveted of all your possessions, and yet here was a convicted murderer brandishing it as if it were his own. " His eyes were wide now as if he were truly angry at Watson himself, "I mean of all the nerve to take another man's personal items and think nothing of using them. Do you know he even tried to fight me with your blade? Ha! Of all the arrogance!" Holmes huffed and then turned his head to the floor taking in a deep breath and then letting it out in a sigh.

Now it was Watson's eyes that grew but in shock rather than anger. In a moment of great clarity he understood all that this was about. Holmes had actually been worried about the doctor. No, no, not just worried but practically petrified that something had happened. Of course! He should have seen it. The emotions that Holmes must have gone through, because, as is customary, he was correct in his observations; Watson was never without his cane. John closed his eyes, a weary smile creasing his lips. He pulled up a chair next to Holmes and practically fell into it. "You needn't worry old friend," He said, hoping to calm the agitated detective, "I dropped my cane when we were fighting Dredger and the lot. I went to look for it afterwards, and I must have completely missed Blackwood when he came down. I suppose he found it before I did."

Holmes' gaze never left the carpet. "You realize that twice now I was faced with a reality in which, married or single it would not have mattered. " He looked up at Watson now with sad eyes "You would have been gone from this world and I…" he returned his gaze to the floor his voice now just a whisper, "I would have truly been left alone. Perhaps it is best that you break your ties with me." Sherlock awaited the sounds of affirmation to come from his companion, but to his surprise, he heard a soft chuckle instead.

"Oh Holmes," came Watson's sigh " So you would rather live in a world in which I was living but apart from you to one in which I was deceased."

Holmes didn't know what to say, as he was unaccustomed to sharing his emotions, so he settled for the truth "I um… well yes. I should not like to see a world that you were not a part of. It would be bleak and without honor." He mumbled this last part out as though he hadn't wished for Watson to hear it.

"I am touched," he said. "Truly I am, but it would seem that I am, oh how did Mary put it…" Holmes stiffened at the name before he realized that he no longer had an issue with the woman. She had shown her strength to him at the hospital and that she might actually be a good match for his friend, even if she was stealing him away. So with unprecedented patience he watched the doctor as the man continued, "Ah yes, I am inexplicably attached to you, although not so inexplicably."

Now Holmes was curious "What do you mean, Watson?" he asked

"Do you know I spent the entire day that you were in jail gambling my money to free you." Watson smiled at the look of amazement on the detective's face. "Yes, it's true. We, Mary and I, didn't have enough money for your bail and I must have paced the house a hundred times before Mary scoffed at me and told me to go free you. She said I was going to worry myself to death if I didn't, and then she continued to say that she was amazed that I even considered giving up my practice with you. Told me I'd die agonizing over your well-being within a week." Watson gave a long suffering sigh, for now it was his turn to stare at the carpet. "I am afraid, my dear fellow, that I cannot deny her words whether I wish to or not. It would seem you are stuck with me, though not as a roommate but still as a work companion."

"Watson, I don't know what to say," he truly was flabbergasted and, that being an uncommon state for the usually composed man, he grasped for anything to fill the silence, "Did you make the money?"

Watson chuckled "Yes, I can be a very good card player when it counts, how rude of you not to be there."

"Well I do apologize for that but you'll have to talk to that not so secret Temple of the Four Orders. Honestly, they tried to blindfold me on the way there, as if that would do them any good."

"Truly, what were they thinking?" Both men gave a small laugh at the thought, then they sat in silence for a few moments. Completely absorbed in their own thoughts.

"She is a winning creature, that Mary of yours." Holmes said, scratching his neck.

"Yes, she is," was Watson's reply.

Holmes reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out the rather large gem he had liberated from Miss Adler, on the bridge. "I'm afraid I haven't had time to have it faceted yet but I do believe this would make a suitable ring for your lady." Holmes extended his arm towards Watson who took the offered gem and gazed at it in astonishment.

"I, yes, yes this would be perfect for her." He stuttered out. "Thank you Holmes. She will absolutely adore it." For a moment he had been stunned into silence by the great gift. To Watson this was more than just a gem; it told him that his long time friend, Sherlock Holmes, was now okay with Watson's decision if not completely supportive. That meant more to him than a thousand jewels ever could. John cleared his throat and again starred at the floor. We should really do something about this carpet, he mused. "Sherlock" he now garnered his friend's full attention by using his given name "I had hoped that you would be my best man at the wedding."

Holmes barely batted an eye before he answered "Oh the ring wasn't enough for you, you want more now. Getting a bit greedy aren't we?"

"Right then," Watson stood from his chair, a bit disappointed as he headed for the door. "I suppose I shall retire for the evening. It has been a busy day." The good doctor knew it was too much to hope for. Just because Holmes accepted the marriage, did not mean he wished to take full part in it. Picking up his hat and cane, he was nearly at the door when a small whisper stopped him in his tracks.

"I would be honored." It said and he looked back to see his own gratitude reflected in the eyes of his closest friend. Watson nodded, no longer able to contain the smile that lit up his face. He turned back to the door and opened it to head to his room. The smile would remain on his face long into the night and even into the following day. He had no idea what was to come his way in the future but he now knew that not only would he have Mary at his side but he would also have one Sherlock Holmes in his life as well. To Watson, things could not get much better than that.

Holmes continued to sit in his chair, an easy smile beginning to make its way across his own features. Perhaps, he thought as reached for his violin, this won't be such a catastrophe after all. Holmes began plucking a lively tune on the well worn strings, humming to himself as he did so. Gladstone rolled over into a contented position by the fire. No, not a catastrophe at all.

The End