A/N: This was bugging me. I may or may not add others, depending on how many times Discombobulate decides to pop up on my itunes and how many times I happen upon Jude Law. I do not own Sherlock Holmes or anything related. Ovbiously.

Eins

As a partner, he was invaluable. Providing just the right amount and the right kind of assistance whenever he was needed, and some instances when he was not.

Yes, Holmes mused, Watson is quite the gem.

Even as a roomate, he prevailed where others would have lit themselves afire and burst upon the streets screaming madly.

Practicing the violin at three in the morning? Jolly good, Holmes. Pass the tea, would you?

Experimenting with the pitiful old dog? Oh dear. Make sure he's alright, won't you?

There was, however, one thing that John Watson, exemplary officer and medical extraordinaire, would not, under any certain circumstances, tolerate.

Late and rambunctious visits from one Miss Irene Adler.

-----

"Holmes."

Oh, dear. He was using the voice. Holmes looked up slowly, swallowing hard. His partner blocked the door, looking livid; escape was impossible. "Yes, dear Watson?"

The doctor twitched violently, icechip eyes glaring balefully.

"Tell me, why is there a scantily clad woman currently residing in my bed? Better yet, old boy, why is THAT particular scantily clad woman in my bed?"

A pause.

"Well, you see Watson, I was-"

"Get her out."

"Look here, you asked for an explanation and-"

"On second thought, I'm not sure I want to know. Just get her out so I may get a good nights rest."

"So early, Watson? You're getting quite feeble in your old age."

Another twitch.

"Such a menial detail must have escaped your keen intellect, Holmes, but it is currently one in the morning. Quite past my bedtime, wouldn't you agree?"

"She's fast asleep, Watson. Surely you're not so cruel as to put the task of her awakening upon me? Miss Adler is such a cranky creature when she's been awoken." Holmes winced in memory, absently shielding his nether regions.

Watson raised an eyebrow. "Indeed." And walked swiftly over to the side of the bed and clapped his cane loudly against the headboard.

"Time to wake up, Miss Adler. I'm afraid you're in my bed."

A low moan sounded from under the sheet, and a head of ruffled brown curls popped out, brown eyes alert and piercing. An angry frown marred Irene Adler's beautiful features, and she opened her mouth to speak. Upon seeing Watson's ruffled state, she closed her it, and a smirk crept upon her face. Hat removed, coat shedded and shirt wrinkled, Watson looked every bit as rumpled as she.

"I'm afraid that's the first time a man has asked me out of his bed. Are you quite sure I ought to move, Doctor? You look so very tired, and as I've remarked to Sherlock quite a few times, I'm quite the masseuse. If you'll-"

"She speaks the truth Watson. I've experienced the phenomena known as Irene Adler's hands myself, often before-"

Watson repressed a scream and held up a hand, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"Never mind. I'll simply retire to your bed, Holmes." He gagged, as if repulsed by the idea, shook himself, and looked tiredly at the drunken detective and sleepy thief, blue eyes bloodshot. "Good night, Miss Adler."

He closed the door to muffled chuckles and a feminine squeal.

"I'll have to have Nanny change the sheets in the morning." was the last thought in John Watson's head before he collapsed on Holme's rumpled bed, asleep instantly.

------

There was a slam and the sound of breaking glass as Watson stomped into the parlor, clothes dissarray and sweat dampening his brow.

"Good evening, Watson!"

A growl.

"Tell me Holmes, is there a particular reason why Miss Adler is draped across my bed IN THE NUDE?"

Holmes chuckled.