Hi guys - Hope you don't mind if I join in the 'I'm a Doctor not a…' challenge. Brilliant idea, by the way.
Disclaimer - I do not own Holmes or Watson.
Archivist
Peace. At last. It seemed like a week since I had sat down with glass of whisky and a good book and was able to rest in peace. Holmes and I had spent the last few days chasing a criminal around the country, from Edinburgh to Plymouth, and just about every town and city in between. Finally, we had caught him, and had made our way back to Baker Street, and I at least was exhausted. Holmes of course, did not seem overly affected by the events pertaining to this last case, and I could tell that he was getting bored at the lack of activity. I had decided to have an early night, with my book and my drink, and was upstairs, in my room.
"Watson." My friend's dulcet tones pierced the peaceful silence, as he called up the stairs and I sighed, trying to concentrate on my book and ignore him.
"Watson!" The voice was louder this time. Again, I decided to ignore him, hoping that the 'greatest deductive mind in the world' would get the not-so-subtle hint.
"Watson!" I grimaced and looked up. Letting out a frustrated sigh, I closed my book and made my way downstairs, opening the lounge door. Holmes was looking at me in irritation. Whilst I had been upstairs, drifting into the world of my book, he had managed to turn the lounge into what can only be described as the scene of a small-scale, but very potent, riot. The lounge was masked under a carpet of white paper, books were scattered around the room, pages falling out where he had thrown them with force, and I could barely see any of the furniture.
"Holmes."
"I have lost it, Watson."
"That does not surprise me." I said, dryly. "What are you looking for?"
"The case-notes for the case you so floridly titled 'The Hound of the Baskervilles'."
I nodded, made my way across the lounge, opened a drawer and looked inside. The case-notes for that 'floridly titled' case were the first I laid my hands on. "Is this what you are looking for?" I asked, tiredly.
"Oh, yes. Mycroft wanted them…I shall take them to his flat now…" In a burst of energy, he picked up his Inverness and his hat, and made his way to the lounge door.
Quickly, I went after him, catching his wrist as he was about to exit the room. "And what about this mess?" I asked "I hate to think what Mrs Hudson will say when she sees it…you know how she hates a mess."
Holmes looked at me, pleadingly, an expression which, once upon a time, would have made me nod obediently and get on with the tidying up. But no more. "Oh no, Holmes." I said, "I am a Doctor, not an Archivist. Clear it up yourself." Holmes opened his mouth and looked at me in some surprise as I made my way up the stairs to my room. Grinning, I leaned over the banisters "Just so you know, old chap, Mrs Hudson will be back within the hour."
Holmes looked at me, took off his Inverness and threw it to the ground, followed by his hat. He then retreated to the lounge, slamming the door. I smiled to myself, and went on up the stairs. Not much could frighten Sherlock Holmes, but a confrontation with an angry Scottish housekeeper came very close.