Hello! I've had a couple of ideas for different fanfictions, but none enough to write full stories around. I've seen a couple of Sherlock Holmes ficlet collections on the site that I really liked, so I figured I'd try out the format for myself! Updates will be largely sporadic - I am by no means a writer, and inspiration is occasional... I just like playing make-believe with my favorite detective and army doctor. Enjoy, and as always, feel perfectly free to comment and critique. Cheers!

Token of Affection

Of all of the things to find themselves in the grasp of Sherlock Holmes, Watson was sure he'd never seen a bouquet of flowers.

Pipe. Cane. Gun. Telegrams. Test tube. All of these, the weapons of his trade, were far more comfortable objects in the detective's hand than the current object, time-honored for its ability to please the feminine subject of one's attention. Watson, who knew his companion well, was well aware of the incongruity between his friend and the bundle that was carefully cradled between his arm and chest. The charmingly colored roses, however, combined with Holmes' pristine and gentlemanly appearance had the effect of turning a few wistful, pretty eyes in his direction. Hiding a smile, Watson saw fit to point out this fact to his friend.

"Yes, Watson, thank you. I had indeed noticed." Holmes was mild in his reply. If he found the situation uncomfortable in any way, he did not allow his unease to show.

In fact, Watson realized, Holmes seemed quite at ease. Perhaps there was a part of Holmes that was quietly enjoying this debonair façade. Likely, it was his ego that was enjoying some of the superfluous attention. His current disposition was one that only followed the successful conclusion of a case; Holmes rarely allowed himself to gloat or, in this case, take pleasure in the positive reactions to his carefully trimmed appearance, on any other occasion.

"Ah. Holmes," Watson chuckled, "look at that young lady on the far corner." He discreetly motioned his head in her direction. "I daresay she is a trifle jealous."

Sherlock glanced at the young woman in question and giggled a bit wickedly. "Oh my. I see that you are correct."

The two fell into snickering about the situation, and Watson went to great effort to calm himself. Holmes succeeded before his companion, wresting control of his composure by articulating unnecessary conversation. "The affections of a well-to-do bachelor – for surely, I must be such as I bear no ring or other token of a promise – are well sought after in the city."

Watson grinned. "It is too bad that your affections have already been claimed, old boy."

The detective snorted. "Indeed, it is pitiable that my independence has been jeopardized in such a way that I am forced to wield the tools of endearment."

"It is your own fault, Holmes. And really, it is the fate of all men." Rather than feel bolstered by Watson's comment, Holmes began to fidget a trifle uncomfortably. "Besides, it's not so bad," the Doctor added sympathetically.

As we approached the doorstep, Holmes sighed dramatically. "Untrue, Watson. I fear that my personal self-respect shall be irrevocably damaged."

Watson stepped back as his friend knocked on the door. The summons remained unanswered for several moments, leading Watson to believe that this pause was carefully contrived. The message was clear; the woman would open the door on her own terms, thus asserting her control of the situation.

Watson couldn't keep a smile from blooming across his face and he was forced to hide behind a hand when Holmes glared in his direction. Any ease a few minutes prior during their walk had vanished at the prospect of the next part in this age-old process, and now Holmes shuffled impatiently.

Finally, the door opened, and the woman cast a devastatingly unconcerned eye over her caller.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes?"

Watson could barely contain his glee at her masterfulness in this situation – and the indomitable Sherlock Holmes. His discomfort was evident, and for one of the few times in his life, Watson watched his friend fumble for words. Finding none particularly forthcoming, he gracefully extended the bouquet of roses for her to accept. He swallowed and tried to regain his air of confidence.

"I apologize for the state of your kitchen. It was an unwarranted experiment and will not happen again. Will you forgive me, Mrs. Hudson? And for heaven's sakes, will you please let me back into my flat?"