Awww, poor Watson! Holmes is being absolutely awful to him, isn't he? I mean, there's no excuse for that is there?

Disclaimer - I do not own Sherlock Holmes, John Watson or any of ACD's characters. (Especially when one particular detective is in a very bad mood).

Chapter 6

I sat on the bed, feeling absolutely wretched. Across the hall, I heard Holmes stamping to his room, before slamming the door behind him. For ten minutes I brooded. Over the years, I had borne a lot - his frequent bad moods; his strange, often inconvenient habits; his terrible chemical experiments all hours of the day and night and his frequent drug use, despite my best efforts to stop him. Blast him! One day he would push me too far! And perhaps today was that day. I stood, walked swiftly over to where I had deposited my small valise and extracted my toothbrush and shaving kit from the washstand. Shoving them into my bag, and not caring when my razor caught on one of the pages of the notebook I had brought up from London and ripped it, I pulled my coat and hat off the back of the door, put them on, donned my gloves and opened my bedroom door.

I walked out onto the landing, and pulled the door closed with a bang. I waited for a moment, and felt a rush of anger as Holmes did not even come to the door to see what was happening. I walked past his bedroom door, and banged on it. "Holmes!" I yelled "I have decided to take your advice. I am going back to London. You have made it abundantly clear that you can do without me. If you want to starve yourself to death, you are free to do so to your heart's content." I paused, expecting an answer. "Holmes? Do you hear me? I am going home!"

"Go, Watson!" Holmes' voice was harsh, but did I imagine a note of panic in his voice?

"So that is it, is it? You will not even come and bid me farewell?"

"For heaven's sake, Watson!"

"I expected better at your hands, Holmes."

"Go. Now." No, it was not my imagination. Holmes' voice was growing hoarser, tenser. His voice betrayed that he…feared something. It of course could be that he feared my leaving but…

"Holmes?" All the anger had gone from my voice, and I dropped my valise on the floor. "Holmes? Are you quite alright in there?"

"Watson!" His voice was panicked, unsteady. "Do not open this door!"

I stood for a moment, undecided. Then, taking a deep breath, and withdrawing my revolver from my pocket, I opened the door and stepped into the room. What I saw there paralysed me, filling me with a deep dread, and an awful sense of familiarity.

Holmes was in just his shirt sleeves and trousers, having divested himself of his jacket and waistcoat. He had obviously been in a temper, as he had thrown his clothing across the room. He now sat rigid on his bed, pressed against the headboard, as far away as possible from the thing that was on his bed, looking at Holmes with murderous intentions. The dreadful creature that had frozen both myself and my friend was none other than a large, and I knew, very deadly swamp adder - the same breed of snake that had been the instrument of murder and attempted murder in the case which I christened 'The Speckled Band'.

The snake was hissing angrily, my entry into the room rousing 'its snakish temper' and had pulled back, ready to strike at my friend. I aimed my revolver, but was stopped by a cry of "No!". I looked from snake to friend, and understood. If I had missed (which was entirely likely the way my hands were shaking), the snake would have launched itself at Holmes. For now, it sat, ready to strike the next time my friend moved.

I scanned the room, hoping to see something with which to incapacitate it. Then, looking to one side of me, I saw Holmes' wash-basin on it's stand. Without even drawing breath, I picked it up, turned it over, and planted it over the snake so that it was trapped. I then pulled a book off the bedside chest, and put it on top of the basin, to ensure that the snake would not escape. It hissed, angrily, but seemed mollified by the dark, and became silent.

The silence was absolute, as both Holmes and I were too shocked to move or speak. We both just stared at the basin, not believing that the events of the last five minutes had occurred. I came to my senses first, and looked over to my friend, to see that he had grown deathly pale, was breathing so fast he was almost hyperventilating, and was drenched in sweat. Moving over to the bed, I offered him my hand, and he took it, his eyes still fixed on the basin. Gradually, I pulled him off of his bed, and we moved towards the door. "Good Lord, Watson…" Holmes said quietly, as we reached it "Whatever are we going to do with that snake?"

The question took me so off-guard that I giggled, and before long we were both roaring in laughter, despite the fact we were standing in a room with one of the world's most venomous snakes under a water-basin. I can only describe our actions as a release of tension - from being almost suffocated to almost being bitten by a snake, our new case had not been uneventful. After a while, I managed to calm myself, and said "Actually, old man, what are we going to do?"

Holmes shook his head, and I felt him shudder against me, as I was still holding onto his arm. It seemed that the shock of the situation was dawning on Holmes. I opened the bedroom door, helped him across the landing, and deposited him into my bedroom. Going back into Holmes' room, I removed all he had brought with him (like me, not much - his toothbrush and shaving kit, a book and a couple of other effects) from his bag, and placed them outside the room. I then left the bag open on the bed, removed the basin, and left the room, like the very devil was behind me hoping that, as I had heard, snakes would slither into the nearest dark space and go to sleep. We would see in the morning if I had remembered correctly.

I gathered Holmes' things into my arms, and entered my room. My friend sat on the bed, looking rather worse for wear. He looked up as I entered and studied the armful of belongings I had brought with me. "Those are mine?" He stated the obvious, and I took this to mean that he was still in a state of utter shock.

"Yes. I am afraid that you will not be able to reclaim your bag again…although it may provide rather a shock if anyone decides to mock you."

"The snake is in the bag?"

"Hopefully."

Holmes looked a bit dazed "Very good."

"My dear man, what happened?"

"I entered the room in rather a temper…er…and…sort of collapsed on to the bed to find that I had a rather unpleasant bed-fellow. In fact, I believe I may have enflamed it by sitting on it or kicking it. I then retreated as far up the bed as I could go…"

"Oh, my dear fellow." I stood. "Sit here, and stay. I will be back in a few minutes." It wrenched my heart to ignore the pleading look on Holmes' face, but this was important. I run down the stairs to the bar, paid for a couple of glasses of brandy, and a plate of food (that looked for all the world like a re-warmed plate of the 'stew' I had eaten earlier). I then took to the stairs again, and rushed back to my bedroom, and Holmes' side. When I entered, he was sitting on the bed, and seemed to have recovered himself a little. I passed him a glass of brandy, and we both gulped it down in a few seconds, which proved to revive us a little. After this, it was necessary for me to assume my most stern voice "Now, Holmes. After what happened earlier, you are going to take this opportunity to eat all of this, or God help me, I will force it down you myself. Do you understand me?"

Holmes glanced at me, saw the steel in my eyes, and nodded meekly, picking up a knife and fork and setting to work on the plate that I gave him. He must have truly been hungry, because he ate the food in about a minute.

"Are you done, Holmes?" I asked, in the tone of voice that a father may ask a difficult child "Would you like more?" Holmes shook his head. "Alright."

We sat in silence for a moment, before Holmes turned to me "I owe you an apology, Watson."

I chuckled "I see that the food has done you good."

"Watson, I am trying to apologise. You know that I am not very good at this sort of thing."

I smiled, glad that he was making the effort, and nodded "Very well. I shall be silent."

"I have been feeling rather…out-of-sorts all day. I suppose I am still recovering the affects of that…chemical."

"It is only to be expected."

"I should not have taken my frustrations out on you, my dear friend. I lost control of my emotions and that reflected on you. I am so sorry. My dear fellow." He noticed my packed bag, and looked at me questioningly and a little fearfully, "You are not…leaving?"

"No," I said firmly "Not now I know the danger you are in. Now I shall stay to the very end."

"Were you going to go?"

I decided that lying was probably not the best course to take, "Yes. I was."

Holmes shook his head "and it would have been my fault. You were trying to help me, and I was terrible to you."

I smiled. "I am used to it…"

"You should not have to be…"

"I do not mean just you. In my profession I often encounter people who do not want help. It is part of the life I have chosen."

"But you should not have to encounter it from me."

"Holmes. I accept your apology."

He smiled, shook his head and patted me on the shoulder "I do believe I have never done anything to deserve your friendship."

"Nonsense, Holmes." I changed the subject with some rapidity "It seems then, that we are being followed…"

"By someone who knows our cases." I grinned at the way he called them 'our cases', and he smiled at me quickly before continuing "Someone who knows a lot about us, and who is desperate enough not to fear capture."

"I would suggest that we both share this room tonight, then."

"Indeed, but I insist you take the bed. I shall have the floor and be quite comfortable."

"But Holmes…"

"My dear fellow, you spent a thoroughly uncomfortable night last night on a under-stuffed armchair next to a draft, and with only one blanket. You have taken them back, I assume?" I nodded. "Very well." Holmes lowered himself to the floor, and curled up, like a cat on a carpet. I threw him down a pillow and a sheet, before making myself as comfortable as possible in the rather lumpy bed.

"I say, Holmes." I said.

"Hmmm?" Holmes answered sleepily.

"I do hope if Lestrade comes tomorrow he will bring us some more clothes."

"I did send a telegram asking him to…"

We lapsed into silence, and drifting in and out of sleep.

"Watson?"

"Yes, Holmes?"

"You do realise that I was lying?"

"When, old man?"

"When I said words to the effect that I do not hold you in the same esteem as I do Mycroft…you do know that…well…I do?" Holmes finished rather limply.

In the darkness of the room, I smiled "Yes, I do."

"Er…well…good…"

"Sleep now, Holmes."

"Yes, Doctor." Earlier when he had used my title, it had been out of anger. This time, it sounded like a term of endearment, as he said it softly and fondly.

"Goodnight, Holmes."

"Goodnight, my dear Watson."

Another silence.

"Watson…?"

"Oh, for heavens sake, Holmes, you are as bad as a small child. What is it now?" I could not keep the amusement out of my voice, however.

"In all seriousness, Watson - whatever are we going to do with that snake?"

"Well Holmes, heaven knows what was in that stew, but if we kill it, our hosts downstairs might be able to pass it off as some sort of game meat."