This is a fun, light-hearted piece not to be taken too seriously, but hopefully it might just make you smile. I really enjoyed writing it =)

I don't own, and there are no warnings apart from pointless fluffiness :P

Holmes' POV

It is nigh on impossible to reconcile the image of my Watson with the brooding creature that is currently occupying his armchair. However, one glance at the mustache is enough to convince me it is indeed he; it is improbable that Watson should be in the grip of a black mood, but it is quite impossible that anyone else could have a mustache like my Boswell's.

This will not do, I decide eventually. It is against the settled order of things in 221B Baker Street that anyone other than I should have such depressions.

"Watson?"

A unintelligible grunt in reply.

"Come on old chap, snap out of it!" I try to inject a note of joviality into my voice though I am not sure it is a totally successful attempt.

"Holmes?"

A coherent word! Perhaps I underrate my abilities. "Yes Watson?"

"If you continue to talk like that, I will be forced to conclude you have been inhaling helium. Again."

I wince, indignant; that was a low blow - I had learnt my lesson about proper ventilation of a working area from the days of headaches and a squeaky voice that had followed that particular experiment.

"I am merely attempting to brighten your mood," I seat myself opposite him, frowning. No response.

Sitting back, I attempt to draw from my mind a satisfactory solution to this dilemma by considering the various methods that Watson often uses to draw me out of my own (rather frequent, I admit) slumps.

1. Watson often forces me to go outside with him on a walk or something equally as aimless - however, a quick glance out of the window at the sheeting rain rules that possibility out - aside from the fact we would both resemble bedraggled rats as soon as we stepped out, Watson's war wound also tends to pain him in this weather.

2. What other tactics does Watson employ...? Ah yes, he will often sit annoying me by staring or some other equally irritating act until I rouse myself to do something 'constructive.' However, if the decidedly murderous look he is giving my poor aspidistra is anything to go by, provocation may result in serious harm to both parties.

The meagre list (which was not even worthy of its title as such) in my head did not seem as though it was going to expand any further - it was plainly evident that I was more than a little out of my depth in this situation. That gave rise to my last option:

3. Perhaps I should consult Mrs Hudson...

I return from having done so, and settling into my own armchair opposite to where Watson is curled in his own, inexplicably managing to look intimidating and thoroughly miserable at the same time, I mull over the suggestion I received from the good lady - personally, I see no logic in it but mayhap it will work - I have nothing else to attempt anyhow, and have also developed a great deal of sympathy for Watson - how he deals with my relatively frequent depressions is quite beyond my ken; I shall never find his limits.

I stand from my armchair in one smooth movement; or attempted smooth movement. I trip, over my own my feet and land sprawled right before Watson's armchair.

There I lie for a moment, wallowing in the indignity of it all as Watson makes sounds that can only be categorised as giggling.

I find my feet beneath me once more and, with the one thought of regrouping with my pride elsewhere, turn around and promptly trip over Watson's strategically placed limb.

Again, I find myself considering the floor at particularly close quarters. The asphyxiating Watson is testament to the success of Mrs Hudson's solution of 'do something stupid.'

I roll onto my side so I can raise a 'how childish of you, Doctor' eyebrow at him, but instead find a small smile tugging at my lips at the sight of warm hazel eyes that are twinkling once more.

I can manage without my pride, but not without my Watson.

Leave your thoughts in a review! =)

~ Qalam