A/N: Thank you for the reviews! I know three (well, technically two 'cause I made my friend review) is a small number but it made me feel really good!

And to Porlock: I know it was a bit hurried, it was my first published fic and I was just so nervous and tried not to make it to long! I also blame the fact that it was 1:00 am when I finished and I had trouble publishing it before school started! Tell me if this one is better. Your review was appreciated. :D

Also I want to dedicate this to the late Edward Hardwicke who passed Monday. Today I wore all black to school to express my sadness. When I looked in the mirror I looked like a ninja… I'm a big ball of fail.

"Your case does not interest me," I said to Lestrade.

He crossed his arms, determined to leave the flat with "yes" as an answer.

"Mr. Holmes, please, we have hit a dead end and you're the only one we can come to. The case is interesting - yes, in your own way - I fail to see why you refuse to take it," he said in a harsh tone.

"I have my reasons."

"I understand it's been months since a client has called upon your services -"

"I had a client just last week."

"So you're engaged in another case?"

"No. I turned it down."

"Alright, if you have a reason why you want to sit here drowning in your own boredom than that's just fine," I expected him to leave but he didn't.

I sighed and leaned back in my chair. Cases weren't enjoyable without Watson there, although the case did sound intriguing. A woman was found near the Thames dead clutching her newborn - he was still alive. When they were found a carving was noticed on the woman's chest: "You deserved it!" What she deserved was unclear, it couldn't have been the husband for he died a few months before the birth of his son; there were no past lovers according to the sister, neighbors, and friends. I gathered from the reports that whoever it was took their time because the writing neat and deep. They were also torturing the poor girl - she died gradually from blood loss from the carvings. But I can't take up the case unless Watson comes with me.

… Wait…

I am a complete idiot! Why didn't I think of it before! Maybe if Watson agrees to come with me on the case then I can have him back. It will be like how Elizabeth took him away from me.

"I'll take it," I said suddenly.

Lestrade looked at me surprised, "Thank you, Mr. Holmes."

"I'll meet you at the crime scene in half an hour."

"Splendid! It's nice to finally see some sense come to you."

Lestrade left and I wrote a quick telegram to Watson and waited his arrival. He came in no time and we set off. He questioned me on my own well-being. I answered quickly and filled him in on the case.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't write up this case," I told him, eager to confess.

"I'd be happy to oblige but why?"

"I don't think the public would enjoy hearing about a dead mother and an orphaned infant," I lied – the public wouldn't enjoy hearing about a homosexual man confessing his love to his best friend.

"Of course, Holmes," he said a bit confused.

I should have thought my lie out a bit better – the murder would most certainly be in the papers. Anyhow it was too late; we were already at the scene.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes, Dr Watson," Gregson greeted us.

Without uttering a word, I walked past him. I knew that the sooner I could get into the case the sooner I could tell Watson. We heard more details and theories from Lestrade – which I proved wrong – examined the river, and interrogated the family and friends. While listening to Watson's deductions I cringed to tell him he was wrong, even though he didn't seem too torn up about it.

Lestrade had to give us authorization to go into the morgue (and I proved my theories correct). This was the moment I had to tell Watson or I would die. I would literally die, if the three words didn't pass my lips within the next 15 minutes, I would fall to the ground and just die.

"Lestrade, would you give us a few minutes?" I asked politely.

"You're not going to do anything that will cause trouble, are you?" he asked accusingly.

I turned to Watson, "what do people think I do while alone?"

Watson gave me a cute reassuring smile but never did answer.

"Very well, Lestrade. You have my word that I will do nothing that will cause trouble in the case," it wasn't a lie, I had exhausted lying.

"Good. If you need anything I'll be right outside," with that Lestrade left and we were alone.

"How did they think she died of blood loss?" Watson asked.

"I understand. They are idiots, only they could mistake blood loss for being drugged! And the sister was obviously lying!"

The sister, Clara, was jealous because she had an affair with her sister's husband before they were married or before she "stole" the man away from Clara. Clara was delusional and said that the baby should have been hers; she screamed that he loved her more than her sister, Oleisa – which is the French variant of Elizabeth. Ironic or do parents actually know if their child is going to grow up stealing another ones love and name them the same?

"You never stop impressing me, Holmes," Watson said.

I smiled at him, "Watson?"

"Yes?"

"Will you always enjoy my presence? Even if I were tell you something disgraceful?"

"Of course, what is it Holmes?"

"I believe that I-"

I was cut off by the sound of repeated banging coming from outside the room. Watson and I ran out to see many people trying to tackle a ginger man. Immediately, I got him on the ground; he fell into hysterics when I asked who he was/demanded him to tell me. The man claimed to be the Oleisa's lover, the one who impregnated her. When he calmed down he wanted to see his son but was held custody over night for public disturbance and he also assaulted a few constables. The truth was finally out and Oleisa was nothing more than a woman wanting attention.

Disappointed with my failure I sulked more than I ever had.

"That was most likely the most exciting day you've had in months, old boy!" Watson said in the cab back to Baker Street.

"And what about you? Trapped in that marriage," I half-joked, still sulking.

"I wouldn't say "trapped," Holmes, but yes. It was very much like life before I married Elizabeth."

I smiled for a second half and looked out the window. For some time we were silent, I was lost in my own thoughts.

"What were you going to say?" he asked suddenly.

"Pardon?"

"Before you were interrupted in the morgue, what did you want to tell me?"

"Oh…that… It's not important anymore," I lied.

"If you insist, Holmes."

"I do," I said.

I tried staying silent but – for the first time ever – it was too awkward.

"Watson? What do you say to dinner at Simpsons tonight?"

"That would be wonderful."

We talked on the way to Baker Street where I fixed my hair and cleaned up. Dinner was a bit quiet but I was glad, I was too afraid if I would say anything it would be wrong. That night I didn't sleep I just sat up thinking how I let him get away again.

A/N: Hope that was an OK chapter. Keep the reviews coming! I love them like Holmes loves Watson! I also apologize for the mystery because I'm terrible at creating puzzles! I also apologize for the comedy, I'm terrible at that too!