Disclaimer: Don't own, please don't sue, I'm really poor anyway.
Holmes has been moping about lately. All the interesting cases, the ones which really required some work on his part had dried up.
The few cases that have come along have been solved quickly, with minimal fuss. I have yet to fully understand his methods. The same cases he solved without batting an eye would've had me on the the floor like a loon, tearing my hair from my skull in frustration. Glancing over the Evening's headlines at my constant companion I find he is still lounging as he was an hour ago; eyebrows drawn in fierce concentration. Puffing on his pipe as if his very life depended upon it, not even a book in his lap.
Aha, there is one, on the subject of microbiology I spy sitting unattended on the side table. Surely he was at least reading on something of interest. I use this as a conversation point. "Holmes," My voice rings loudly through out the small sitting room, he glances towards me, arching an eyebrow, a sure indication I'd gotten his attention. "What are you studying tonight?"
He looks blankly at me, following my gaze to previously said book, "Nothing, just a lark." His voice is monotone and he returns to puffing away on his pipe. Now, I must admit that I am a bit miffed as to his current mood, I can see no cause for it. Giving up my game of peek-a-boo behind the newspaper I fold it into a small rectangle, which I then shove under my arm and leave the room with only a quick goodnight. No response is forth coming from my companion.
I spend the next few hours in deep concentration. Tossing ideas around in my head, I finally find a solution to the problem at hand.
Several restless hours pass before I hear the door of Holmes' quarters closing. I leap out of bed, a flying stream of brightly colored satin brocade. Holmes just needs a bit of the good ol' "Doctor's Medicine"! That was sure to get him out of this infernal case of the blues.
Creeping down the corridor I find my way by candlelight to his door and burst into his room. It is a small, mostly empty room. Only the necessities, making a very stream-lined living space he claims; I find it cold and un-lived in. Although his sense of decor makes it easy to work my way through the space, and to his bed. I crawl in and wrap my arms around him.
Apparently this comes as a surprise to him, he pushes me away; as if he were a hissing cat. The light from the candle reveals my identity and for a moment he is in a stupor. Finally the explosion comes, "WATSON!" The name is shouted with disbelief, and I grin, holding up a finger, indicating silence at this late hour, lest we awaken our kind land lady. He listens, the next words sizzling in a whisper, "What the devil are you doing here, Watson?" The sound of his voice suggests that his face has turned 12 shade of red.
"Just come to give you the antidote to the blues." I can't stifle the chuckle that escapes as I wrap myself around him again, "Come, let us rest." I murmur, laying my head against his shoulder.