A/N - Ok so first is my usual thanks to the most wonderful and majestic beta mistress, who is also known as mrspencil for doing such a great beta job so quickly!

Second - I just want to say a huge thank you to everyone reading, reviewing and subscribing. I never expected to get very much of a response for the story because it's in the crossover section but I've gotten loads more people reading than I ever thought I would and each one of you motivates me and gives me so much happiness and yeah I just love you all.

And so third - I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to get this up. Exams are horrible and time consuming and so yeah - sorry for leaving you on that cliffhanger for so long.

Chapter 7 - Returns

Watson

The cold was so intense, so absolute, that it took me a few moments to recall the basic necessity of breathing. Once I had, it became clear that the action was impossible as I was utterly submerged. Panicking now, I kicked myself upwards and moments later my face had broken the surface of the river. I had gulped barely a lungful of air before the current had pulled me back under.

The freezing temperature, coupled with the pace at which the river was flowing, were enough to quite thoroughly disorientate me and though I thrashed and struggled desperately against both, my efforts were to no avail. I was growing weaker; my limbs heavy and my chest aching from the lack of oxygen. My vision began to fade...

Then something grabbed me. Whatever it was not trying to hurt me, but pulling me upward and before I had time to dwell on the identity of my saviour, I had emerged suddenly into the bitterly cold night air and out on the riverside where I was then left to sputter and cough. Once I had fully regained my senses, I sat up, panting heavily.

"Th- thank you!" I was eventually able to gasp, then started in shock once I caught sight of the stranger who had rescued me.

"No problem."

It was difficult to make him out in the darkness, but I had no doubt that what I could perceive would have scared many senseless. I myself had seen stranger things this night.

"You okay now?"

"Y-yes," I said. I was shivering violently. "Wh- who are you?"

"Most people call me Batman."

I looked up at his shadowy cloak and rather terrifying profile. "A m-man, then? Not a d-demon?"

"No, not that," he said and beneath his dark cowl, I sensed the shadow of a smile. "But sometimes it's nice to have the criminals think otherwise."

"C-criminals?" I enquired, getting to my somewhat shaky feet, so that we were on level with one another. "Y-you are with the p-police? Or a d-d-detective?"

"Something like that," he replied enigmatically. I considered questioning him further, but my clothes were still dripping wet and the cold had become quite unbearable.

"P-perhaps we should-"

"WATSON!"

I turned toward the distant, yet unmistakably familiar, bellow.

"Holmes?"

"I think you're in good hands now Dr Watson," Batman said from behind me and when I turned back to ask how it was he knew my name, he had vanished. A few moments later Holmes emerged into view, breathing heavily.

"Watson," he greeted me with relief, but stopped short as he took in my drenched appearance. "I say! I do not mean to sound ungrateful, dear chap, but how on earth-" he gestured toward the river, "-did you get yourself out of that?"

I emitted a rather shaky laugh.

"I d-doubt you'll b-believe me Holmes. I-I was s-saved by-"

"Batman?" he interjected with a knowing smile.

"Y-yes! B-but how did y-you-?"

"First things first Watson," he interrupted, removing his coat and holding it out to me. "Let us return to Baker Street - we can continue this conversation in the warm."

Although it was altogether the wrong size I accepted the coat gratefully, and we both set off.

"As you can no doubt tell, I was unsuccessful in rescuing Wiggins and Miss Cartwright," he said in a deceptively brisk tone. I reflected that perhaps it was only I, having known him so long, who could discern the subtle guilt which lay beneath his words.. "Indeed,it seems we both owe this Batman fellow our lives."

I glanced sidelong at him, taking in his appearance. A large bruise was forming on his temple, and one of his hands was covered with blood."W-what happened to y-your h-hand?"

He looked to the bloody appendage as though surprised. "Ah yes. Not nearly so bad as it looks I assure you Watson. Merely a few splinters."

"I-I'll be the j-judge of that," I muttered, inciting a chuckle from him.

"Ever the Doctor, hmm? Watson?" He looked at me critically and his smile faded somewhat. "You really are shaking quite violently old fellow... Perhaps I should enquire in one of the houses-?"

"N-no, th-thank you," I refused, not breaking my stride. Truthfully I wasn't at all sure if I could keep going were we to stop long enough for him to get assistance. "I-I would rather g-get home quickly."

He cast me a brief look of concern, gone as soon as I had seen it, then took my sodden arm in his own.

"Very well then. Home it is."

Holmes

By the time we had returned to 221B we were both exhausted. It was a rather irate Mrs Hudson who met us in the entrance hallway.

"What in heaven's name has happened to the pair of you?!" she exclaimed, eyes widening at the sight of Watson's dripping clothes and my bloody hand.

"H-he fell off a m-moving cab and I took a t-tumble in the T-Thames," Watson stuttered, with an apologetic smile. "I-I am sorry in advance f-for the s-state of your carpets, M-Mrs Hudson."

She eyed us both for a few moments, clearly deciding whether or not we were pulling her leg. Then she rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh and ordered us both upstairs, going to fetch us some warm blankets and sweet tea.

We both entered the living room where, thankfully, a small fire was already blazing in the hearth. Watson collapsed, cross legged in front of it, shuffling as close as he could without being burnt. He let out a sigh of relief and the shivering tension in his shoulders slowly began to ease.

"Better?" I asked, passing over the old Afghan from the back of the sofa.

"M- much," he answered, eyes closed as he absorbed the much needed warmth. His voice was hoarse and I remembered again the abuse he had suffered earlier that night at Jasper's hand. "I d-don't suppose you could pass me a d-dry dressing gown and my medical bag?"

"Of course." I handed over the items and looked away as he changed. "I trust you are not too injured from your... encounter?"

"No - just a few bruises, mercifully. Your hand, though..."

"Ah, yes," I eyed the hand in question. The stinging from the splinters had now diminished to an odd sort of ache. "I imagine it is a case of pulling out the wood and rinsing the wound with antiseptic?"

"I'm afraid so. Simple enough, but deucedly painful."

"Best get it over and done with then," I affirmed and held out my hand to him, opting to sit by the fire rather than make him move away from it. He looked rather done in - his hair was sticking up at odd angles where bits of it had dried and others hadn't, and despite the fire, the dry dressing gown and the warm afghan now draped around his shoulders, a convulsive shudder would run through him every so often. I imagined I did not look much better, what with the gash in my head. And of course, neither of us had slept this night.

"We were rather lucky to get out of that at all, I suppose," Watson commented, pulling out the first sliver of wood and dropping it into a small metal basin he had pulled from his bag with the surgical tweezers and antiseptic bottle. "It isn't every day you fight a giant."

"I suppose not," I snorted, then winced as the movement jolted Watson's tweezers and, by extension, the next piece of wood he was extracting from my hand. There was a silence for a few moments and, as he was finishing his work, I recalled something from earlier that night. "Watson?"

"Yes, Holmes?"

"That... poem, was it? The one you called out to distract Jasper?"

He chuckled, turning my hand over to check for any splinters he might have missed.

"I suppose you must have thought me mad," he smiled, releasing my hand and transferring his attention to my head wound instead. As he did so, the living room door opened and Mrs Hudson entered, carrying the promised tea. "It's a poem by Lewis Carrol."

I stared at him blankly and he sighed, rolling his eyes as he began to dress the wound with some gauze from his bag.

"A rather famous children's author, Holmes - it is ridiculous to think you have not heard of him!"

"No more ridiculous than you reciting a children's poem to distract a monster," I retorted.

"Yes, well... it was the first thing that popped into my head," he admitted, before adding defensively, "It did the trick!"

"Funny," a gravelly voice spoke from behind us and there was an almighty crash! as Mrs Hudson dropped her tray, which had been laden with a full tea set, screaming as she did so. "A friend of mine once used a similar strategy."

Both Watson and I were on our feet in an instant, turning toward the now-familiar voice. Sure enough, the cloaked figure of Batman stood there, looking incredibly out of place in our, comparatively ordinary, living room.

"Good evening," I greeted him calmly. Mrs Hudson, who was trembling with fright, looked at me in horror.

"You- you know this man?" she demanded, saying the word "man" as though she scarcely believed he was human.

"Er..." How best to explain this? "Well-"

"We met earlier this evening," Batman supplied. He turned his face toward me. "I need your help. And I think you need mine."

A silence followed in the wake of this bold statement. I looked at the man before us - his masked face should have been little help concealing who he was. I had deduced far more about a person given far less material - and yet nothing I concluded made any semblance of sense.

When it seemed no one would speak, Watson at last cleared his throat and, practical as ever, asked, "Mrs Hudson, do you think you might fetch some more tea?"