Disclaimer: Don't own Holmes, Watson, Mrs. Hudson, Gladstone, or Irene. However, this particular Duke of Hampshire is mine. Not that he really matters.

A/N: This is a pretty long chapter, so I apologize in advance for taking up so much of your time. It's a bit of a filler too, so there isn't much action. I tried to balance it out with some Holmes-Watson rivalry. Enjoy!


When Holmes came to, he was lying in his own bed at Baker Street and it was morning. Slightly amazed, he attempted to look around and discovered he was unable to move his neck. Further inspection revealed the cause of this to be a thick brace. Holmes huffed.

"Now, don't be like that," came a voice. "You should be grateful I had one of those handy."

Holmes attempted to look at the speaker but encountered difficulties with lifting his head. "Watson, I know that in some twisted way you must be trying to help. However, I believe I can feel my windpipe being constricted into a useless straw. Would you be so kind as to get this infernal thing off me?"

Watson's smiling face appeared in Holmes's field of vision. "No. No, I would not be so kind."

The detective sighed. "If I suffocate, on your head be it."

Watson pulled up a seat by Holmes's bed. "Would you like a full report on the extent of your injuries?"

"I'm going to get one anyway, aren't I."

"Ah, ever so perceptive." Watson leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees, still wearing a pleasant smile. "You have a case of whiplash, hence the brace. You also have a tiny fracture in the front of your skull. In the back, your head was encasing several large splinters of wood. However, with a small amount of surgery, I was able to remove them. You gave yourself a compound fracture in two of your knuckles, and three of your ribs are broken, not to mention the extensive bruising of your torso and face."

"Is that all?"

"You owe me £100."

"Why?!"

"I bet on you. You lost miserably."

"That doesn't mean I owe you!" Holmes exclaimed.

"On the contrary. You rather disappointed me."

"Did you arrive at the ring before or after the brute challenged me?"

"Before."

Holmes was rather astonished. "And you still bet on me?"

"I have quite a bit of faith in you, old boy," Watson said. "However, you were stupid for accepting the challenge. I expected better of you."

"What would you have done?" Holmes retorted.

"Graciously declined."

He scoffed. "I'm sure." Holmes sighed briskly. "Well, get my coat, Watson. I must apprehend the fiend before he leaves the country." He began to sit up and was promptly shoved back down by Watson.

"You're bedridden for the next six weeks," Watson said flatly.

"Six weeks?!"

"At least."

"Watson, please!" Holmes pleaded.

"I must insist on this, my friend."

"You torture me," he whimpered.

"Yes, I know. And I get immense pleasure from it," Watson replied. "Now be a good, obedient patient and stay there. I'll go get you some soup from Mrs. Hudson." The doctor rose and made his way down the stairs to the kitchen. "Soup done, Mrs. Hudson?"

"Yes, here it is," the landlady said. "Would you like some as well, doctor?"

"Yes please."

She ladled a large portion into two bowls, adding a few final spices before handing them to Watson. "What about drinks?"

"Lemonade for me," Watson said. "I'll see about Holmes."

"The poor dear," Mrs. Hudson lamented, shaking her head. "When you brought him home last night I thought he was dead. He looked so much like a few pounds of ground beef that I saw Gladstone licking his chops."

Watson smiled. "It'll take a little more than a bad boxing match to take down our Holmes."

Just then, the moment was ruined by a loud, steady pounding on the floor above. The chandelier shook and Mrs. Hudson cringed.

"Holmes," they both sighed.

"I'll go see what he wants," Watson grumbled. "Thank you for the soup, nanny. I'll be right back for that lemonade."

Carefully balancing the soup bowls, Watson hurried up the stairs and shoved the door open with his foot. "Holmes! Unless I am a horribly inaccurate doctor, you still have your voice and therefore no reason to go banging on the floor like a child with a temper tantrum!"

"Well I'm sorry," Holmes said, setting down Watson's cane.

"You are already a thief, conman, and ruffian. Don't add liar to your list." Watson set one of the bowls down on the table beside Holmes. "Here. Lunch."

"I'm not hungry."

"Shut up and eat. What do you want to drink?"

"What are you having?"

"Lemonade."

"Me too, then."

"Two lemonades!" Watson called down to Mrs. Hudson. He turned to find Holmes attempting to eat while lying down. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Attempting to stretch my ability beyond this ridiculous prison you insist on bestowing upon me." Some of the soup spilled from the spoon. Holmes yelped. "Ah! Watson! Hot!"

"Yes, it is rather spicy, isn't it."

"Burning!"

"Hmm. Perhaps you shouldn't eat soup that way, then."

"Just sit me up," Holmes grumbled.

"Nothing would give me greater pleasure." Watson pulled Holmes up, leaning him against the headboard. "Would you like me to feed you as well?"

"Yes, would you?"

"No."

"But my hand is broken."

"Then use your other one."

Holmes huffed and set about eating his soup with his left hand. Satisfied, Watson started on his, when suddenly he was hit in the face with something rather damp and mushy. Slowly he looked at Holmes, slurping from his spoon with a little too much innocence.

"My…dear Holmes…did you just fling a carrot at me?"

"Watson, what kind of an accusation is that?"

The doctor flicked the vegetable off his face to a happy Gladstone. "An accurate one, I'm afraid."

Holmes shook his head. "Now, now, Watson. Don't go pointing fingers at the cripple."

Glowering, Watson went back to his lunch.

The detective smiled. However, his little victory was short-lived, as suddenly Watson was standing over him and placing the dog on his legs. "Here, Holmes. Gladstone would like to keep you company."

Holmes looked horrified. "No! Get him off, Watson!"

"Why? You don't like him? Holmes, I'm shocked at you."

Holmes glared at his friend as Gladstone made himself at home in Sherlock's soup bowl. "You are a very wicked man, doctor."

With an almost sheepish smile, Watson set Gladstone back on the ground. "You can have mine, Holmes." He traded his bowl for Holmes's drool-tainted one, setting it on the floor for the overjoyed dog to finish.

"Thank you, Watson. It's quite a relief to know you will never have the conscience to begin a life of crime."

Watson sat back down, scrutinizing his friend. After a minute, Holmes looked up at him and raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Why, Holmes?"

"Because the clouds tend to trap gases such as carbon dioxide, which hold in heat and—"

"No, no, not the greenhouse effect."

"Then what, doctor?"

"You know very well what," Watson said. "Why were you boxing last night?"

"Why wasn't I boxing last night?"

Watson was serious. "Holmes, you only box when you are happy and rather cocky, bored and full of unused energy, or when something is very wrong. Yesterday you were certainly not happy, and you weren't rambunctious enough to be bored."

"Preposterous."

"Holmes." The detective was graced with what could only be described as a Watson look. "Do you really think you can keep something so obvious from me? What's wrong, my friend?"

Holmes sighed. "Get me yesterday's newspaper, Watson."

Slightly confused but satisfied that he was at least getting an answer, Watson went and retrieved the paper for Holmes. He handed it to him and Sherlock promptly handed it back.

"Front page. Main headline."

"Main headline?"

DUKE OF HAMPSHIRE REMARRIES AFTER SENSATIONAL DIVORCE!

Watson stared at his friend. "…the Duke of Hampshire—"

"Irene."

"Oh." Watson frowned. "I'm sorry, old boy…."

Holmes sighed. "It's to be expected."

The doctor slowly furrowed his brow. "Yes, really…why are you surprised? You knew it was coming."

Holmes was intently examining the pattern of his quilt. "In the light of…recent events…I had hoped…." He sighed. "Well...I suppose you can't teach an old dog new tricks." He looked forlornly at Gladstone.

"Get some rest, old boy," Watson said. "Everything will happen the way it is meant to."


Sadly, I must agree with Watson on this one. Holmes should get some rest. R&R!