"Mrs. Hudson!"

Watson leaned out the door just in time to catch Mrs. Hudson making her way down the hallway with her arms full of laundry.

"What now, Doctor?" she cried, exasperated. 'In case you haven't noticed, I'm busy!"

"Have you seen Holmes about lately?"

Mrs. Hudson's brow furrowed in confusion. "He went to that crime scene—the murder one that's been in all the papers. I think he said Gregson would be there. He did say that you knew, and since Gregson is going to be there…"

"Yes, yes." Watson cut her off impatiently, pulling on his coat. "Next time, verify that with me before you let him go. This isn't the first time he's pulled something like this, and I suspect it won't be the last."

He strode out of the door, paused, and stuck his head back in. 'Oh, and Mrs. Hudson? If he returns before I get back, do try to keep him here, will you? Thanks."

When Watson arrived at the crime scene, his first impression was of a gaggle of frightened police officers, obviously rookies, judging by their reaction to a certain self-proclaimed consulting detective's retelling of their life stories. The looks of relief on their faces when Holmes spotted Watson and dragged him away to see some crucial evidence, were quite funny, and it was all Watson could do to keep from laughing as he was carted off.

By the time Gregson finished up with interviewing the family of the deceased, Holmes was still rambling through a list of deductions about the killer.

"Still at it, then?" he whispered to Watson as he drew near.

"Yes. I hope he finishes soon, though. I'm getting hungry."

They listened to Holmes in silence for a few more moments.

"And so, in conclusion, because he had the motive, means, and historical probability, it was the butler!"

"Well done, Holmes!" exclaimed Watson, surreptitiously nudging Gregson, who seemed about to doze off.

"Wha—oh, yes, capital job, and all that. The butler, you say? I never would have guessed. We shall act upon it at once." And if his tone was somewhat bland and rehearsed, the important thing was that it escaped the notice his audience, who immediately launched into a well-practiced speech on the incompetence of Scotland Yard.

"But sir!" whispered one of the rookies. "He's wrong. We have incontrovertible proof—"

"I know!" hissed Gregson. "Shut up."

"But…"

"Shut up!"

The rookie fell silent, continuing to send mutinous glares in Gregson's direction for the rest of the speech.

When Holmes had finally swept off, the doctor on his heels, Gregson rounded on the rookie."Well Mr…."

"Bradstreet, sir."

"Bradstreet. No doubt you think that I was wrong to let him leave under the assumption that an innocent man is the guilty party?" Gregson's voice was soft and dangerous, seething with undercurrents of anger.

"Well…with all due respect, sir. Yes."

"Have you ever heard of Sherlock Holmes before, Bradstreet? He used to be the world's finest detective mind. Down here every day, solving crimes that we couldn't even begin to wrap our heads around. He got us out of a lot of tight spots, and almost of us owe him something. For a few of us, it's our careers. For the rest, it's our lives. Then one night, he was investigating a routine murder case, and the suspect pulled a gun on him. Got him right in the head. We got him to the hospital, but it was touch and go for a while. When he woke from his coma…he wasn't the same. It was like a three-year-old had taken up residence. He's still a deducting machine, but he comes up with the wrong conclusions. He's thinking from a three-year-old's view of the world, not an adult's, and it bothers him. He still has tantrums sometimes, and there's nothing we can do about it. His brother found a flat for him, and a live-in doctor and nurse to help. Don't know where he got them from, but those two have the patience of saints. Holmes sometimes gets it into his head that he's still the brilliant 'consulting detective' that he was in his youth, and the least we Yarders can do to honor the man he used to be is agree with him, no matter whom he accuses."

"Oh. I…I didn't know. It won't happen again"

"Of course it won't. After all, if it were to, I would personally write you up for obstructing an official investigation, and since you obviously don't want that...

"Yes, sir." The rookie quickly departed, leaving Gregson alone with his thoughts.

"Another one for our annals, Watson?" Holmes blearily asked as the laudanum began to overcome his hold on wakefulness.

Watson smiled fondly as he looked down at his patient. "Yes. Yes, I think it is." And, chuckling to himself, he turned down the gas and left to go clean up the mess in the sitting room.