I woke up again late in the morning, but to no surprise Sherlock was still asleep. Sighing, I sat up and tried to work out the stiffness that had set in from spending the night on a wooden desk. Unsurprisingly, within mere minutes of my awakening my stomach growled. I was hungry, but of course there was no way could get to the kitchen, or to food for that matter, on my own. Which meant I had to find a way to wake up Sherlock.
Standing up, I pondered the distance from the edge of the table to Sherlock's still form. It didn't seem like that far to jump, but just to be safe I backed up a bit and took a running start. I landed with a light thump on Sherlock's chest and, scrambling for a hold, grabbed onto his shirt collar. Even with this action he didn't wake up, and I could feel the even rhythm of his breathing as his chest rose and fell underneath me.
"Sherlock, I'm going to kill you for this," I muttered crossly under my breath as I climbed my way up to his shoulder. "Sherlock," I said into his ear, standing unsteadily next to his head. He didn't reply, so I tried again. "Sherlock!" I shouted into his eardrum, as loud as I could manage. He reacted with a start, causing me to lose my balance, and I would have tumbled over if I hadn't clutched a lock of his hair.
He yawned widely and stretched, causing me to hold on tighter so as to not fall over. After a moment he seemed to feel my presence, and plucked me off of his shoulder with an easy motion. "Good morning, Watson," he said to me, a sleepy sort of smile on his face. "That was rather creative of you to wake me up. Do you need something?"
I looked up at him, wondering how he could possibly be so casual. All I could manage was irritation. "Yes, I'm hungry," I said plainly, assuming he would understand the implications.
He did, of course. 'Yes, a spot of breakfast would be nice," he agreed, and while still holding me in one hand he stood up. Without thinking I clutched one of his fingers for support, and they curled up rather protectively around me. The simple motion of his walking felt like a ship rocking through a storm; that was about the only experience I could relate my current situation to, understandably.
We approached the kitchen, and with a surprisingly gentle motion Sherlock set me on the table. I had always found our kitchen table to be on the small side, but funnily enough it seemed rather large now. I looked around with interest (and, it must be mentioned, a healthy measure of fear) as Sherlock put together breakfast. Despite my apprehensions, this new point of view was interesting, Our familiar apartment seemed to have taken on new dimensions overnight.
"Here we go," said Sherlock, returning to the table with a plate of toasted bread. Carefully, he tore off a small piece and handed it to me.
Needless to say, I had to hold it with both hands, and with only a bit of difficulty I managed to take a bite. Though the situation was still rather unusual, the warm bread was a welcome relief. I noticed that Sherlock's eyes often lingered on me as I ate, most likely observing the unusual phenomena. If it helped him find a way to reverse it, I didn't mind at all.
"Someone's coming up the stairs," said Sherlock, suddenly but with certainty. I froze, unsure of what to do. I remained indecisive until I heard the door click open, at which point I dashed behind the jam pot on the table, my heart thumping wildly.
"Mr. Holmes sir, there's a visitor here to see you," came the familiar voice of our landlady. I held my breath, hoping she would not approach closer.
"Show them up, if you would be so kind," Sherlock replied, as suave as ever. She agreed, and soon enough I heard the door close once more. "You can come out now," Sherlock said teasingly, removing the jam pot and causing me to fall backwards.
Lying on my back still, I looked up at him and asked, "We're having visitors? Now?" It seemed like an awful time to have company over.
Sherlock smiled, but I couldn't decipher it's meaning. "Yes, which means we have to find you a place to stay hidden while they are here." He picked me up again and took me into the living room, where he set me atop the mantle above the fireplace. "There," he said as I struggled to get my bearings, "a perfect view of the room."
There was then a knock on the door, and as Sherlock went to answer it I hid behind a leafy potted plant. He was right, even behind the plant I would have a great view of any going-ons in the living room. Even better, I was perfectly concealed from, any guests. There was absolutely no way I was disclosing my current problem to others. I may have lost my height, but I still had my dignity.
The door opened, and a shy young woman walked into our living room. She was dressed rather plainly, with only a shawl and bonnet to complement her dress. Still, it seemed rather cold to have such little protection form the chill. Though her hair was pulled back, I could see it was of a light brown color. Her face was young, but struck with tragedy (one which I assumed we were about to hear).
Then another woman walked in behind her, and I had to suppress a groan. What was Mary doing here? I couldn't let her see me like this; our relationship had barely just begun. I had no idea how she would react to this. For a brilliant detective, Sherlock really was an idiot.
"Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" the young woman asked in a quavering voice, staring beseechingly at Sherlock.
Sherlock nodded and, retreating to his own chair himself, said, "Please, take a seat."
She did so, and Mary took a seat beside her. I could see Mary's eyes glance towards my usual chair, no doubt wondering where I was. Luckily she didn't ask, and instead turned to Sherlock with an explanation. "This is Miss Hannah Struthers," Mary introduced the young woman, holding her hand in support. "She needed help, so I recommended you."
Sherlock now had his pensive expression on, familiar yet unreadable. "Of course," he said quietly in reply. "Please, Miss Struthers, what is your predicament?"
Miss Struthers swallowed nervously and, with a supporting smile from Mary, started her story. "A few nights ago, a man tried to rob me. He broke into the house, but when I came down he ran off. As far as I can tell he didn't take anything, but I've been worried ever since."
"I assume you saw this man's face when you encountered him," said Sherlock thoughtfully. She nodded, and he continued, "Then this seems like a rather simple matter for the Yard. Why come to me?"
Miss Struthers looked at him, and I could see the emotion in her eyes. "With all due respect, Mr. Holmes, Scotland Yard cannot help me. The man who broke into my house has been dead for almost ten years now.
"Thomas Jameson was a friend of my father's. They went to war together, before I was born, and returned as fast friends. When my father married my mother and settled down, Thomas went adventuring in search of his fortune. When I was fourteen I met him for the first time. He had returned to London after a long foreign trip, and was eager to tell my father of his discoveries.
"According to what Father told me afterwards, Thomas was a rather eccentric man, He told Father that there was a fortune to be made in America, if only he and my father could travel there for a year. Eventually he got Mother to agree, and they left us for an entire year, or almost. Father returned earlier than expected, bringing news that Thomas had died in America. I never could get Father to describe how Thomas died, as after he returned my dear father refused to speak of his good friend. It was as if they had had a falling-out before he died, and Father couldn't help but be angered with him still.
"Well, a few nights ago was ten years after that, almost to the day. My parents are currently on holiday in France, so I was the only one at the house. I was awakened by a noise, and when I went down the stairs I saw there was a light in the kitchen. Of course I never leave lights going, so I hesitantly peered into the room. There was a man standing there, opening and closing the doors to the pantry and the other cupboards. He turned and saw me there and dashed out the back door, but not before I got a good solid look at his face. It was Thomas Jameson all right, perhaps a bit different than my memory serves, but him all the same. He always did have a peculiar shape to his face, one feature that I never forgot. And I can assure you, Mr. Holmes, I am very food with faces."
When Miss Struthers finished Sherlock had the same thoughtful expression as always, though I could tell he was intrigued. As soon as a mysterious death was mentioned, I could see he was completely involved. Unfortunately, this didn't seem the best time to take a case.
"Miss Struthers, I apologize for your fright, but from what I have heard I can assure you that there is no immediate danger," Sherlock said. The young woman sighed with relief, and Sherlock added, "I would be delighted to aid you in solving this very peculiar case." He said this with a smile and I had to refrain from swearing, unable to believe that Sherlock would continue to put me through such pains. We should be focusing on an antidote, not some case!
The young woman, however, was shining with gratitude. "Oh, I cannot thank you enough Mr. Holmes!" she said in delight, standing up and taking his hand in hers. "You do not know how relieved this makes me."
"I will come by your house tomorrow," said Sherlock. "Shall I call at eleven?"
Miss Struthers nodded and, with a few more pleasantries aside, exited through the door. Mary stayed behind, and once her friend was gone turned to Sherlock and asked, "Where's John? Doesn't he usually stay with you when a client comes?"
"Yes, he's here," Sherlock replied, with a teasing smile in my direction. I sank further into the leaves, desperately hoping he wasn't about to do what I thought he was. "You can come out now, Watson, it's only Mary," he said, despite my anxious looks in his direction.
Mary turned towards the hallway leading to our bedrooms, and I hoped she wouldn't take a surprise like this the wrong way. Hesitantly, I stepped out from behind the plant, walking to the front and center of the mantle. "I'm over here, Mary," I called to her, bracing myself for her reaction.
She immediately turned in my direction, her eyes searching for the source of my voice. When she spotted me, all that I could see on her face was shock. "John!" she exclaimed, flying over to the mantle. Putting her hands on either side of me, she began a thorough perusal of every inch of my body. "What…how did you get so small?" she asked incredulously.
I frowned, and pointed an accusing finger in Sherlock's direction. "You have him to thank," I enlightened her.
Mary looked over at Sherlock, who simply smiled and shrugged. "Guilty as charged, he calmly replied. To my surprise, this caused Mary to break into a brilliant smile.
"He's so adorable!" she exclaimed.
Sherlock smiled. "Isn't he, though?"
"Mary!" I complained, aghast that she was siding with him. "Don't encourage him!"
She turned back to me apologetically, but couldn't keep a smile off her face. "I'm sorry, John, but you really are just too cute this way!"
I frowned. "I don't want to be cute, Mary, I want to be normal. And the genius over there wants to take a case before finding a way for me to return to normal," I explained, glaring at Sherlock for good measure.
Sherlock chuckled, seemingly unaffected by my frustration. "Come now, Watson, you wouldn't be so selfish as to put your comfort above that young lady's, now would you?" he asked. I flushed, knowing full well I couldn't come up with a good response. "Besides, what could be the harm in staying that size for just a little while?"
I could think of all sorts of harm that could come from it, but didn't bother arguing the point. There was no way I could possibly win, not with Sherlock's mind set as it was now.
"Yes, John, I think it would be fine to stay this size," said Mary. No doubt about it, she was now thoroughly in league with Sherlock, damn his curiosity. I could see that she was just barely suppressing the urge to coddle me, a reaction I wanted to avoid if at all possible.
Sighing, I surrendered myself to their wishes. "Fine, but just one case. Then we find an antidote."
"Upon my honor, my dear Watson," Sherlock replied with a smug smile. "Until then, I have a few errands to run. Mary, would you be so kind as to look after him for me?"
Mary smiled. "I have an engagement at noon, but until then I would be delighted!" I as on the verge of protesting that I didn't need looking-after, when I realized that I couldn't get down from the mantle on my own. This new state made life so much more complicated; even the simplest of tasks was turned into a challenge.
"Wonderful," said Sherlock in response to Mary, throwing on his coat. "I shall return this afternoon." And with that he left, closing the door securely behind him.
"Come, John," she said cheerfully, scooping me up in her delicate fingers. She looked down at me in wonder, and I could tell she was still attempting to convince herself that this was real. For that matter, so was I. "Let's go into the kitchen," she said, carrying me in there and setting me on the table.
For the next few hours we played board games together, like chess and backgammon. I still managed to win, even thought I had to stand on the board and move the unwieldy pieces with both hands. It was enjoyable; I had ceased to play board games with Sherlock, as his strategic mind beat my average intellect every time. At least with Mary I had an even chance.
Eventually noon came about, and as Sherlock wasn't home yet Mary had to leave me alone. "You sure you'll be all right by yourself?" she asked, fretting. "You have enough food and everything in case Sherlock doesn't come back for a while?"
"Yes, Mary, I'm fine," I said tiredly. She had fixed me enough food for me to last a month, and besides I was used to staying at the flat on my own. Changing sizes hadn't affected my bachelor living abilities.
"All right… then I suppose I should go…" she said, inching away towards the door.
With a sigh I walked to the edge of the table, shooing her away. "Go, Mary. I'll be fine, I promise." She finally left, and I was alone on the kitchen table.
By the time Sherlock returned it was already getting dark, and I was practically asleep from boredom. Usually when I was alone I would read, but being stuck on the table without reading material of any kind made for a boring few hours. For the first time since he had done this to me, I was glad to see my roommate.
"I bought you some new clothes," said Sherlock, setting a bag next to me on the table and fixing himself dinner.
My interest piqued, I went and started digging into the bag. I soon pulled out a complete set of clothing, socks, handkerchief, and all. As far as I could tell there were about five new outfits all told, every one of them in my new size. "Where did you find these?" I asked him, admiring the intricate detail of clothing so miniature.
"A specialty doll maker's," he replied, returning to the table with a plate of food. "I thought if we were going to be on a case tomorrow, you couldn't very well go in your nightclothes."
Oh, so now he started thinking ahead… Suddenly, the entirety of what he had said sunk in. "Wait, you mean I'm coming with you on the case tomorrow?" I asked, unsure of whether I wanted to go along or not.
"Of course you're coming, Watson," said Sherlock plainly. "I rely on you. Besides, you may come in handy."
Yes, a whole lot of help I was going to be in my current state. He just wanted an excuse to carry around his little science project for a day, whether or not I wanted to. Still, going out in public like this made me nervous. "By the way, I told the land lady you were on a trip in Italy. As far as everyone else is concerned, you're abroad," said Sherlock.
Foreign travel? Exactly how long was he expecting this to last? "Fine, whatever works," I said resignedly. We supped together quietly, each of us involved in our own thoughts. I yawned, feeling tired despite my earlier attempts at napping on the table.
"Tired, Watson?" Sherlock asked. I nodded, and he replied, "Then we shall go to bed." Standing, he picked me up off the table. I was too exhausted to offer any resistance, or even complaint. Silencing the lights as he went, Sherlock moved towards our bedrooms; however, instead of dropping me off in my room and moving onto his own, he took me into his room.
"What are we doing in here?" I asked. With surprising gentleness he deposited me on the bed, and I found myself resting on the pillow next to his.
"Well, it wouldn't be practical for you to sleep in your own bed," Sherlock replied, rummaging for something in his dresser. He soon returned, handing me a large silk handkerchief to use as a blanket. "This way, you can wake me up if any reason for that comes about." As always, he was right, and I reluctantly lay back on the pillow.
Pulling the makeshift blanket up to my chin, I felt Sherlock get into the bed next to me, his much larger form obscured by the raised edges of the pillow. Sighing, I closed my eyes and tried to sleep.
And so the first day of my trouble with Sherlock came to an end.