Disclaimer: Sweet little Holmesy and dear little Watsy aren't mine. Oh how I wish that were different.

A/N: As updates featuring multiple objects have become commonplace, we'll just stop pointing it out. xD I had to look up the history tidbits in this one, yet I'm not sure how early all that was known. So maybe Holmes is just a genius. A little more Watson in this update as well, for all those doctor fans. I apologize for the length, as it just kind of grew out of itself. Enjoy!

I was humming happily, putting away dishes in the kitchen, when I heard a damp sort of squeak behind me. Turning around, I let out a little scream at the sight of Holmes, dripping wet and wrapped in a towel.

"Woman, don't be alarmed," he said, holding up a hand. The other hand was busy keeping him somewhat clothed.

"Holmes, what are you doing?"

"Well…I was taking a bath, when it began to rain," he explained.

"What? What are you talking about?" I exclaimed. "First of all, it doesn't rain indoors, Holmes, even you should know that. And secondly, you were taking a bath? Of your own free will?"

I then took a closer look at the thick, white goop covering his hair. What I had taken for soap was too sticky, too creamy, and not entirely white.

"Holmes…what is that?"

"What is what?"

I approached him and he started backing away. "Woman, what are you doing?"

"Hold still, I'm trying to see your hair."

"You can see it from back there!" He continued backing up until he bumped into the wall. Having cornered him, I grabbed his slippery shoulder and leaned towards his head. He stared at me, looking a little terrified. "Woman! What on earth are you trying to do?"

"Holmes, your hair smells like mint," I said. "That doesn't bode well."

"Ah…woman," Holmes whispered. "This, uh…."

"What? Why are you whispering?"

He cleared his throat. "Watson."

I looked over, where Watson was searching through the kitchen for something to eat. He glanced at us and he hid a smile beneath his moustache. "Oh, don't let me interrupt, by any means. Continue."

I felt myself flush and Holmes tightened his towel around his waist. "I would greatly appreciate it if you released me, woman."

"Sorry." I let go of his shoulder. "Now what were you saying about rain?"

"I believe he means the shower, my dear," Watson called, grabbing an apple from the fridge.

"Holmes, you've never taken a shower?" I said in disbelief.

"He's taken about seven baths in his lifetime," the doctor put in helpfully.

"Watson, it would be most helpful if you would stop talking," Holmes said. He turned back to me. "I know what a shower is, woman. I just am not accustomed to the modern version. The shower was invented by the ancient Greeks, but fell out of use over time. It was recently restored in a slightly different form in 1810, although the bath has—"

"So you accidentally turned the shower on, is that what you're trying to tell me?" I interrupted.

"Precisely."

Watson had mastered the shower a long time ago and rather enjoyed it, but Holmes—as he rarely even entered the bathroom—barely knew we had one. However, what Holmes meant by 'rain' wasn't my only question.

"What about the toothpaste?" I inquired. "I'm pretty sure you can tell the difference between toothpaste and shampoo."

"Of course I can," Holmes scoffed. "I've even seen you use your paste."

"Then why did you put it on your hair?"

"Because I wanted to smell like mint. I abhor coconut, and that's the only shampoo you own."

"Yes, well, you can't leave it on there. It's not supposed to go anywhere but your mouth," I said.

"I quite agree. My scalp is burning."

"Why didn't you say so earlier? Let's go wash it off."

"No." Holmes shook his head.

"Why not?"

"Because I am never setting foot in that bathroom again."

"Yes you are," I countered.

"No."

"What about when you have to go?"

"Prior to the third millennium BC, primal man had no toilet," Holmes replied.

"You are just full of history lessons today, aren't you," I remarked. "Come on. I'll help you."

"You're going to help him shower?" Watson said incredulously. "Woman, you are a brave soul. Even I have not attempted to undertake that task." Holmes glared at him.

"No! Nonononono, I am not helping Holmes shower!" I said quickly.

"Good!" the sleuth forcefully agreed. "Wait, why not?"

"Because that's just disturbing and strange and weird and full of so much more information than I ever want to know," I shuddered. "Instead, we're going to lean your head over the tub and scrub your hair."

Holmes paused. "…wouldn't you rather help me shower?"

"Not at all. Come on, Holmes."

Ten minutes later, Watson and I had succeeded in getting Holmes to the bathroom door, fifteen feet from where we had been standing. There he braced himself against the doorframe in such a way that neither of us could do a thing to budge him.

"You're being ridiculous, Holmes! It's only a bath!" Watson yelled, shoving his friend forward.

"Only a bath?" Holmes shouted back. "It's the most terrible form of torture!"

"Come on, Holmes! You need to get the stupid toothpaste out of your hair!" I insisted.

"No!"

With much grunting and sighing, Watson and I gave up to rest yet again.

"This is insane," I panted.

"I must agree."

"You're giving up so soon?" Holmes asked. We glared at him.

"It seems this will take quite an amount of finesse," Watson said. "But exactly what?" He looked thoughtful. "We can rule out threats…I have learned Holmes doesn't respond well when they aren't carried out, and insists on revenge when they are. We can also rule out your womanly charm, as he's quite sexist and won't fall for such a thing in the first place."

"You are aware that I can hear every word you're saying," Holmes stated.

"We can also rule out my womanly charm because that would be embarrassing and I wouldn't do it anyway," I said, ignoring him.

"I suppose we must resort to bribery," Watson decided.

"Oh, I've got this down," I assured him, standing up and ducking under Holmes's arm. Standing squarely in front of him, in a voice as though commanding a disobedient dog, I said, "Holmes, if you allow us to take you into the bathroom, I'll give you three whole bottles of root beer, two candy bars, the TV remote for a day, and I'll let you climb around on the roof provided you don't try to fly again, or sacrifice me. Deal?"

He considered it, and then nodded. "Deal."

Relinquishing his grip on the doorframe, he walked calmly in. Then suddenly, he whirled around and attempted to bolt out. Luckily Watson was blocking the way.

Holmes huffed. "The bitter taste of defeat."

"Somehow I knew you'd do that," Watson said.

"You told me to go into the bathroom, and I did. You never specified how long you wanted me there," Holmes said in a haughty tone.

"Long enough for us to wash your head," I answered.

"I'm not sure what you mean by 'us', madam," Watson murmured. I looked at him curiously. "From what I can see, there's only room for two by the bathtub…you and Holmes."

I groaned. "Watson…you make that sound so horrible. You have no idea."

"Come now," he said with a wave of his hand. "You're only kneeling beside a bathtub and scrubbing Holmes's hair."

"Somehow that didn't help." I heaved a sigh and took Holmes by the wrist. "Come on."

"Et tu, Watson?" Holmes said pitifully.

"Oh hush," I grumbled.

"I'll guard the door," Watson volunteered, walking out and closing it behind him.

I had a strange bathroom. From the hallway, the door opened into a long, relatively thin room with a counter running the length of it, and a sink on either end. At the far end of the room was another door into another, very tiny room, holding the toilet and beside it, the bathtub. For one it was small, and for two it was cramped. I pulled Holmes into the smaller room and closed the door behind us with some difficulty.

"Okay, Holmes, kneel down right there," I ordered as I pointed to the floor.

"I will not," he said firmly.

"I'm sure you've knelt in places much worse. Down."

The sleuth sighed and got down on his knees, adjusting his towel accordingly. "Is this satisfactory?"

"Yeah," I nodded. I knelt beside him and reached over, turning on the water. "How's that feel?"

Holmes poked at it. "Too cold."

I turned it warmer and he tested it once more.

"Too hot."

I changed it a second time.

"Too cold again."

"Holmes, just deal with it."

He huffed. "Now what, woman?"

"Lean over, hon."

Holmes stared at me. "…into the water? You must be joking."

"Nope."

He heaved another sigh. "I want more candy."

"I can do that."

"Good." Holmes swallowed and closed his eyes, wrinkling his nose. "I'm going to drown." He leaned forward until his head and shoulders were over the bathtub.

I put my hand on the back of his neck and steered his head into the water, where he promptly yelped and jerked out. "Hey! Holmes!"

"You must warn me, woman!"

"Okay, okay, sorry."

"Why can't I just do this myself?"

"Because you won't do a good enough job, Holmes. You virtually don't even know how to bathe. Now let's try this again." I held his neck and pushed him back into the water. He let out a tiny whimper as water ran over his head and dripped down the sides of his face. "Hey, you're fine," I comforted. "Just relax and we'll finish faster."

I got his entire head wet and the tub already began to fill with toothpaste foam. For a moment I hesitated, and then started scrubbing out his hair. My hands were almost immediately covered with the minty goo and I winced, hating the feel of toothpaste even prior to this.

"You're touching me," Holmes said in his personal-space-invasion tone.

"I'm getting the crap out of your hair."

"This is not crap, it is toothpaste."

"You don't know how glad I am of that fact."

After a minute, he spoke again, having been keeping his mouth closed tightly for fear of drowning. "Is it gone yet?"

"…yeah, there we go."

"Good." He flung himself up, water flying wildly everywhere.

I yelped. "No, Holmes, get back down there! You're not done!"

"But you said it was gone!" His hair was sticking up in all directions.

"I said you're not done." I shoved him back over the tub and grabbed the shampoo, lathering it into his hair.

He groaned. "Coconut."

"Yeah. Coconut."

Four or five minutes later, the door opened and Watson looked up. Out walked Holmes, still in his towel, with a new one on his head. He glanced at the doctor as he passed. "Hello, old boy."

Watson furrowed his brow. "Wait…where's—"

"Right here, Watson." I walked slowly out of the bathroom and into the hall, absolutely soaked to the skin.

The doctor stared. "Good heavens, what happened?"

"He turned on the shower," I said through clenched teeth.

"…you were in the bathtub? However did you get—"

"Don't ask. Please don't ask." I headed towards my room with the intent of changing. "Oh yeah, Watson? The next time you're bathing him."

I opened the door, walked in, and closed it. An instant later, a loud scream came from the room. The door was flung open and Holmes stumbled out, followed by my crazed yell of "GET OUT OF MY ROOM BEFORE I SHAVE YOUR HEAD!"

Holmes stood in the hall and huffed. "Women. Always overreacting."

And now I am polling the masses. I have already asked a few of you, but for those who I missed, what do you think about the relationship between Holmes and I? Should it progress into something romantic, or should we stay "just friends"? Are we making POC a happy hypocrite or a lonesome...non-liar? Review or PM with your opinion! :)