Marill: This was supposed to be a humorous oneshot to bridge "the buried detective" and the sequel, but I got a little carried away with it and it has now become a fic in its own right. Humor is my mainstay, and it's a good therapeutic process while I brainstorm the more serious sequel. Having that said, this is a comedy, and like all my comedies, it will be slightly OC and hilarious. Enjoy!

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A week since Holmes' rescue had passed, seemingly an eternity to Watson, who had played the parts of concerned physician and gatekeeper interchangeably. Holmes was entirely insufferable, especially after reading each morning's paper. The detective in question would often make serious demands for trivial items, such as a glazed crueller one particularly stormy morning. While Watson went out to generously appease his invalid friend's wishes, Holmes would practice walking in secret, an activity that was absolutely forbidden in the doctor's presence. By the fifth day of such nonsense, Watson had caught on to the little burlesque and, throwing his hands up in the air, had given Holmes permission to do whatever he liked.

"But that will be the last time I go to an obscure pastry shop for your amusement!" he had promised.

Upon day eight of Holmes' convalescence, a news article struck such an angry cord in him, he launched himself off the settee, intent on setting the matter straight.

"Watson, get your coat," he demanded.

Watson, sitting at his desk, only moved his eyes to look at Holmes. "Am I going somewhere?" he wondered.

"You will accompany me to Scotland Yard so that I may throttle Lestrade." Holmes made animated and threatening gestures with his good arm, the swiftness of which was a great contrast to his achingly slow walk to the door.

Watson walked over to the couch to see what in the newspaper had upset his friend. "That does not seem a likely possibility, Holmes," he said gently. "It takes you nearly an hour just to make it into your bedroom."

Watson scanned the paper while listening to Holmes' grumbling in the background. An article which was severely wrinkled, having been crushed in Holmes' fist, read "Inspector Lestrade rescues inept Sherlock Holmes. Holmes grateful."

Watson glanced at Holmes, who was struggling valiantly with his overcoat. Sighing, the good doctor assisted his friend, knowing that nothing was going to change Holmes' mind now.

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Marill: Quite short, and not much humor yet. But, stick around for more! And, yes, the actual sequel will be much less superficial and will contain psychological elements, as well as all the other things one would expect after going through what Holmes did.