The First Time He Lost The Game.

A/N: Just a silly bit. There was a challenge at the Create-a-character forum (Elementary My Dear Reader forums here at ff), but I got diverted from the purpose... Look up the thread - it is fun!

Warnings: Vengeful!Watson

Disclaimer: not even the challenge is my. Poor, poor me.

'Watson? How would you describe our prey?'

We squatted behind crates of fish gone bad. Pale cloud-shaped blobs of shadow crossed beer-like rivulets of melt water. Now and then, a chilling gale lifted the ubiquitous odor I hoped to stop registering in an hour or so, depending on when my nose would be congested up to the task. A spring-cleaning day, weather-scale.

The man whose trail Holmes'd tracked to the docks, existed for me as a hazy combination of a newspaper clip, a stab of a candle and a book of matches. There was also a vial Holmes snatched from me before I could uncork it.

'He reads Times.'

'How can you tell?' Holmes grumbled. He had been out in the elements for much longer than I. 'He only happened to have an advertisement!'

'And here is where you are wrong. He happened to loseone. Generally speaking, he might read newspapers...'

Holmes growled inaudibly. His fake mustache was dark and bristling from fog, and doubtless reminding him of incomparable rotten tuna.

'Have I told you how ugly you look?'

'Rather forcefully, I daresay. Now, kindly resume your efforts in deduction.'

'He looks for new lodgings.' The advertisement was hard to misinterpret.

'Brilliant,' Holmes proclaimed with feeling.

Time passed. My toes grew numb.

'The candle.'

'He needs light to read.' I bit my lips; Holmes was twitching with impatience.

'The matchbox serves the same purpose,' I added hastily.

'The vial!' A hopeless wail.

'Antimony.'

'What?'

I smiled.

'You specifically chose this godawful place so that I would not detect the lack of the garlic scent of arsenic. You miser, have you not enough arsenic to poison everybody in Baker Street and their cat?'

'Hopkins borrowed all of it. They finally began experimenting down at the Yard.' He was vexed. Served him right. 'Why did you get along then, o my traitorous friend?'

'Revenge,' I stood up and gave him a hand, 'is best served cold.'

We trudged home, stiff and dirty after ambushing each other to honor the tradition…

'By the way, Holmes.'

'Oh, just go and say it already!'

'April Fool.'