Sherlock Holmes and I were perched precariously among the limbs of a willow tree in one Benedict Daugney's large lawn. Daugney was the prime suspect in Holmes's latest case; involving a failed construction project, misplaced birth certificate, and leaking dinghy. Holmes had successfully drawn an effective net around Daugney, leaving us to tie the final knot tonight.
Daugney and his confederate lay inert at the three's roots, their snores floating up towards us. I shall not delve into the details of the lengthy case, but will suffice to say that the two were waiting, as we were, for the signal that would seal the deal for Daugney and us. We only had to catch him before he escaped, explaining the need for our vigil in the tree. Both Daugney and his accomplice had fallen asleep earlier in the night. We did not dare to talk for fear that we would wake them, but every so often I would look over at Holmes, inquiring if the time was ripe yet, and he would shake his head.
My limbs were getting cramped from sitting in the same position all night long, but soon I was becoming restless for another reason. I waited until I could restrain myself no longer, and then leaned in closer to Holmes and whispered urgently in his ear, feeling my face flush when he looked at me exasperatedly.
"Watson, this is not the time to be in need of a chamber pot!"
A/N: I'm sorry, but it had to have happened sometime.
