Authors Note: I haven't written a very Holmes and Watson centered story, so that is what I will endeavor to do here. I have two other stories on the site, 'A Blessed Halloween' and 'Of Thank You's and Tea'. Should you like this story and want to read more of my work please visit those tales and leave me a review or two of what you liked or thought. As always, the enduring Mr. Sherlock Holmes belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and Elizabeth Lestrade and compu-droid Watson belongs to DIC.

Two People

All was quiet on the Western Front, or, in this case, the English Front. It was March, just a few days after the new spring had shone brightly over the Isle, and circumstances in New London had been…rather pleasurable. There was the usual amount of crime: a burglary here, a fight there, the occasional poor soul hopped up on random drugs, but, all in all, it had been fairly quiet for the past month or so.

It unnerved Sherlock Holmes to no end.

For the first fortnight, he'd been happy to relax, read, and study the holo-vids that Lestrade had procured for him on various subjects. It elated him to pontificate to the Irregulars about life in 19th Century London, or take strolls in the deep of night with Watson and chat about nothing in particular. That had been the first two weeks.

The third week saw Holmes' need for something to do start to boil over, and the fourth week magnified that feeling 10 fold. No longer was he happy or content reading or watching the latest news stories, his curiosity was not sated by the holo-vids, and if he had to go on one more walk or tell one more story about his past life just to be occupied… Sherlock Holmes was quite becoming akin to the idea of walking not only right up to deaths door, but walking straight through it.

Watson found his old friend sitting in his high-backed, Victorian style chair, a fire roaring beside him a few feet away, his fingers steepled together as Holmes stared out the bay window at…something. Ordinarily, this would not have concerned the droid, but having left the detective sitting in that exact spot four hours ago to administer a regeneration session only to come back to the same scene was not exactly healthy in Watson's medical book.

"Holmes?"

No acknowledgment. Watson's metallic feet shuffled forward until he was standing just in front and to the side of his friend. "I say, Holmes, are you alright?"

Not even a bat of the eye. Watson blinked and sighed. He wondered briefly what his ancient self would have done for the detective in this state, but stopped that bit of processing after only a few moments. As many times as he'd read Doctor Watson's journals and stories, and as much research as he'd done on his predecessor, the compu-droid had long accepted that he would never be able to replace John Watson fully.

"Holmes, is there anything you would like to do today? Perhaps take a walk to the local market?"

"Where is the logic in that when we walked to the market yesterday?"

Okay. Watson could easily tell the mood Holmes was in. He wanted something to do, not only that, he wanted something that would exercise his mind to the fullest extent, something that he could mull over for hours, dissect and put back together and then take apart again, something that would occupy his mind for so long that he would lose sleep over it… Holmes lived for solving mysteries, for solving crimes. He lived for the next client that would walk up the stairs and into his life and would give him the best present he could ever receive; a new case to solve, a new crook to catch.

"You know Holmes… one should think you happy that there has been very little reason for New Scotland Yard to bother you. It means the city is safe, in good hands, it means the more powerful criminal element is sleeping away its boredom." Watson looked down at the man sitting before him, wondering if anything he'd said had gotten through to his pseudo boss, but one look at the now knitted eyebrows and hearing a depressed sigh did not give him any hope.

"Perhaps you should call on Inspector Lestrade?" Watson took special notice of the quick dart of eyes to him and then back to where they'd been plastered previously. "The both of you seem to be getting along swimmingly, though she does have a rather violent temper and there are times when you annoy her excessively-and purposefully, I might add."

Holmes shrugged. "It amuses me to do so."

"I would tread carefully; it may amuse her to take your head off your shoulders one of these days."

"The woman would never do that," Holmes remarked, somewhat smugly, "Beth Lestrade is impetuous and impulsive, but she is not stupid. With Moriarty wreaking havoc on the city she would not be so silly as to make me immobile or incapacitated specifically when her reasoning for bringing me back to life was for me to act as I do."

"I believe the lady meant for you to 'act as you do' towards the criminals and not towards her," Watson chuckled, lowering himself on the settee. A great sigh escaped his lips.

"He has been too quiet, Watson, much to quiet."

The droid furrowed his brow slightly. "Who?"

"Moriarty, of course!" Holmes was suddenly up and pacing the wooden floor, hands behind his back as he began to trudge a new track on the surface. "Moriarty is only ever quiet when he is working on something. Not even his cronies have uttered a peep since his last failed experiment with the DNA washer and trying to impersonate the world's leaders." He stopped in front of his companion but didn't look at him. Instead, he stared off, eyes lit up by the fire that was burning brightly in the hearth before him. "Moriarty is a wounded animal, Watson, and animals are at their most dangerous when they are hurt. They are unpredictable, capable of taking higher risks to achieve their goals. The Professor is no different."

For the first time since Holmes had been revitalized a little over half a year previous, Watson saw that Holmes actually looked tired. Not sleepy, but drained. Watson couldn't say that he blamed the man. After all, he'd been ripped from a peaceful slumber to come back and fight his arch nemesis a second time. The thing was, Watson wasn't certain that Holmes wouldn't have chosen to come back anyway, if presented with the idea that Moriarty was alive and wrecking havoc again.

"What do you propose it is we do then, Holmes?"

"We can do nothing, my dear Watson. And that is what is driving me to the edge of insanity." Holmes strolled over to the mantle and leaned against it, letting the warmth of the fire dance along his skin. "He's buried himself so deep in one of his bases that we could turn New London inside out and never find him. He's gone so deep underground that not even his lackey's, his common thugs and criminals, are making any noise. He doesn't want anyone to know what he's doing. I would wager that if Fenwick is not with him, even that crazy geneticist wouldn't have the faintest idea of what Dear James was plotting or conceiving presently."

"Put a call through to the Yard," Watson suggested, "ask for the last known coordinates of as many of Moriarty's men as the data bases can find."

"Lestrade, I'm sure, is busy with other things."

Watson quirked an eyebrow. "I didn't say Lestrade, Holmes. I said the Yard."

He could have passed it off as the heat of the fire giving the detectives face a reddish glow, but Watson knew better than that. Besides, the man hadn't been standing next to the blaze for more than two minutes, and his height made it nearly impossible for his face to become flushed that quickly. "So you have two people on your mind then?"

Holmes shook his head. "Only one. Always only one. The reason for me being alive in the 1800's was to bring Moriarty to the gallows. As it stands, the only reason I am speaking with you now is because I was revitalized, and for what? To bring Moriarty to justice! As capital punishment has been outlawed in this century, I can only trust the Cryptnotizer, and I find that process highly suspect and not as ful-filling." Holmes crossed his arms and turned profile to Watson, eyes as fiery as the flames licking at the stone next to him. "I am Moriarty's downfall, and he is mine; there is no escaping this fact."

Watson couldn't help but let out a dejected sigh. "You may be Moriarty's downfall Holmes, and he yours, but you forget another enemy." Sherlock raised his eyebrows, waiting for Watson to elaborate, which he did, shockingly.

"Yourself."

"Beg your pardon?"

"You missed out on so much in your past life, Holmes." The smile Watson gave him was a sad one. "Always running after the next case, always anticipating the next robbery or assault or murder, or attack on states secrets. Always waiting for the Yard to call you, to stroke your vanity for as long as they needed you. Were you happy? Yes, I believe you truly were. But I also believe that you missed many, many life enriching moments that could have made you the happiest."

Holmes cleared his throat. For once, he was having difficulty trying to understand what it was that Watson was trying to tell him. "Out with it, man. What is the message in your code?"

"You have two people on your mind tonight, old friend. Moriarty is one of them, as it would take surgery to remove him from your brain. The other, whether you want to admit it or not, is someone you are more afraid of than Moriarty, though for different reasons, and I trust you know who I am speaking of." With that he stood up and headed for the kitchen.

"Coffee and donuts, Holmes?"