Title: Storm Chasing

Rating: T for possible language, violence and mature themes

Pairing: POSSIBLE H/L later on.

Summary: When Holmes becomes depressed and nostalgic, his fantastic powers of deduction begin to slip. In order to prevent the Great Detective from becoming a liability, and to restore his happiness, Doctor John Watson is returned to life. The question is: Will he be any happier than Holmes in a new century and a new life?

Extra notes: Another filler chapter, for the most part. Besides the blatantly flirtatious Hopkins, some spectacular motion sickness and Grayson, nothing important happens. Honest. We get to see Moriarty emerge onto the stage in chapter eleven, though! Oh, and of course, thank you ElizabethLestrade again, for beta-ing!

Disclaimer: Not mine. Duhhh.

Chapter Ten: Light Flurries

Holmes

For five days I had woken each morning expecting to find myself alone and the sufferer of a very cruel reality in which one's good friend is not simply expelled from the ether at leisure to carry on keeping the company of a single undeserving man; however famous he might be. Each morning I explored the sitting room, taking into account that it did, indeed, resemble a room frequented by two men. Two pipes, two pairs of slippers, and a distinct smell that I knew subconsciously could only belong to Watson. Yet I would not get my hopes up, even as again and again I was surprised and delighted to see him wander down the stairs, groggy with sleep. Each morning, same as the one before, I would exclaim, "Watson?" And laugh quite hysterically when he eventually nodded.

Accepting his revival was difficult, and yet strangely simple. My anger at Lestrade had boiled over following my rather embarrassing fainting spell upon Watson's first reintroduction to me, but it only took twelve hours for me to realize I had no logical reason to remain upset. I was happy, for the first time in months, and though I disapproved of the idea, I couldn't deny my own feelings in the matter. Strange how she seemed to know what I wanted better than I, myself. Strange…

And rather frustrating.

"No." I looked at Watson in alarm as he folded his arms and took on the appearance of a harried bull. "Absolutely not. They are death traps." Ah. Of course, he was still hesitant on the very notion of flying cars. Unsurprising, I had not been terribly fond of them initially. I still thought they were confoundedly dangerous machines.

Lestrade sighed dramatically and pursed her lips in animated frustration. Given that she was wearing her uniform (rather than her civilian clothes) I deduced we were going to visit the Chief Inspector. That was a meeting I would like to put off. "Come on, Watson! We can't walk!"

"Whyever not?" Watson retorted.

"Well, I mean… it's miles away! We can't just—Holmes, tell him it's too far to walk!"

Now that was unfair. This was certainly not my battle. "Quite right, Watson! We all need the exercise." I couldn't help but chuckle when Lestrade spluttered indignantly. "Come along, Inspector!" I took the liberty of winking at her, hoping that she wouldn't take it too personally, and I was surprised when she turned an odd shade of red before hurrying out the door. "What in the world…?" It was not long before I could hear her trying to persuade Watson again to get in the cruiser.

I took my time in pulling on the infernal Inverness cape, and when I emerged from Baker Street, Lestrade appeared to have taken to gambling as an alternative means to get Watson in the 'deathtrap'. "Now, really Watson. I have no doubt you would last longer than three minutes without vomiting!" I quipped, for I must confess I felt no particular desire to walk the distance. "I daresay you can take that bet with confidence." I laid a hand on his shoulder, smiling more broadly than I believe I ever had before his rejuvenation.

He glanced at me morosely. "I do not like them, Holmes. I feel as though I'll die any second when I'm in it." Good heavens, how I had forgotten Watson's ability to whine efficiently. "It's completely unnatural as well. Unsafe…"

"I can't recall you ever making a fuss over heights before, old boy!" I had read his expression like a favorite book, and could clearly see the reason for his anxiety as his eyes continuouslydrifted skyward.

"Well, Holmes, in my defense I have never been in a vehicle hundreds of feet in the air travelling at ridiculous speeds." He folded his arms anew. "I recall saying something similar to you when you climbed over me to escape one of those exotic snakes at a sideshow. If I remember correctly, you assured me in no uncertain terms that the differences between a garden snake and a python are—" I waved a hand at him hastily, suppressing a shudder at the renewed memory of that fearsome beast of a reptile. I had been unable to sit still for days after seeing the blasted thing; my skin had been positively crawling.

"Snakes?" Lestrade exclaimed so indignantly that I had to sigh. "The Sherlock Holmes is afraid of snakes?"

"I am not afraid of them. I simply dislike them immensely." I corrected sharply, taking time to glare at Watson for dredging this up.

"What about Grimesby Roylott…"

I could not stop myself from shuddering then, though I retained my dignity by containing the desire to make a less-than-appropriate face at the reminder. "Please don't mention Doctor Roylott, Lestrade." I pleaded, though now I could think of nothing but my terrible half-minute struggle with the snakish fiend. I could not help but rub my hands over my arms to fend off the crawling sensation.

"Hah! You're ophidiophobic!"

Oh good heavens, was I never going to regain my reputation? "I do not have ophidiophobia, Inspector." I growled testily, though when Watson started chuckling along, I felt certain that my cheeks were starting to stain pink. "If I did, the sight of Doctor Roylott would have had a decidedly paralyzing affect on my person. As you no doubt recall, I was fighting quite vigorously to get away from him."

"Hold on now, Holmes!" Watson cried, holding up his hands. "You speak of this doctor as though he were both a human and a snake! How on Earth can that be?" I glanced at Lestrade, and she returned my knowing look with a broad smile.

"Well, Watson, we would be happy to explain the situation!" I announced.

"In the cruiser!" Lestrade added slyly.

The promise of an interesting tale was enough to get Watson to grudgingly pack himself away in the cruiser, sitting in the backseat and staring determinedly in front of him. The beginning of the interesting case went off without a hitch, and I described quite animatedly the appearance of modern-day zoos, and the less-than-friendly greeting we had received from Monty the python.

The inspector surprisingly enough won her bet, for it was only a minute into our journey that I had to lunge into the backseat to save the upholstery by ungracefully shoving one of the ingeniously-designed sickness bags under Watson's nose. I wrinkled my nose at the disgusting noises emerging from him, but kept at my vigil until Lestrade groaned in the front. "Holmes, I think I'm gonna…" Oh good lord, I could recognize that tone anywhere.

"Watson! Hold this! Hold it—there's a good man. Lestrade, do not even think of vomiting yet!" I dove back into the front just in time to set the autopilot and hold a second bag under her nose. I shall forever be grateful for my stomach, which has always had a great talent for keeping its contents under tight lock and key. Though I did not enjoy playing nursemaid to two adults, I was thankful not to join them. "Come on, Lestrade. Up you get," I helped her clamor into the passenger seat and took to the driver's side. "There we are. Just focus on containing the contents of your stomach to that bag, will you? The same applies to you, Watson!" I switched off the autopilot and turned as smoothly as I could towards a shortcut to New Scotland Yard, though judging by Watson's increased retching I had not improved my unsteady handling of hovercars.

"I'm really sorry, Holmes, but I can't stand—" I grimaced when Lestrade busied herself with the sickness catcher. "—I can't stand hearing someone else puking."

"I must apologize as well, old fellow." Watson moaned from the backseat, surprising me with the amount his stomach had apparently been holding. "It's this devilish machine. I was so deucedly nervous that the first turn made my stomach—" I sighed morosely when he resumed his stationary position over his bag. Wonderful inventions; what went in was locked there, and it successfully safe guarded against the stench that came with bile, for which I was eternally grateful.

"Don't apologize," I said softly, focusing more on the smoothest course to New Scotland Yard than easing their misplaced worries. "Just focus on purging all that you must before we leave the sanctuary of the cruiser." I angled the vehicle downward, towards the open and waiting landing dock of NSY. Our arrival was marred by more retching than I should have ever thought two people capable of. I moved to open the cruiser, but Lestrade's hand curled around my forearm. I looked at her, and the strange woman blushed again. Now really, twice in one day was a bit much; I wondered if she might be getting sick.

"Don't… don't open up yet. Lemme finish puking." She groaned. Watson, on the other hand, had perked up considerably and seemed anxious to get out. He looked at Lestrade worriedly, and had a hand on her forehead before she could rebuke or move away. "I'm fine! You just made me sick with all your heaving."

Ever the doctor, Watson didn't rise to her barb, instead smiling emphatically. "Of course. I apologize, Inspector. If you're feeling better, though, it seems we're attracting some attention." She looked up and cursed frantically, moving to the controls. I found myself in a slightly awkward position, with Lestrade leaning heavily on my left shoulder to reach the powerboard. I glanced back at Watson, but he only shrugged, looking at her with a curious expression "Lestrade, you're crushing me."

"Shut it, Holmes! You landed us in the middle of the zedding dock! We're in everyone's way!" To my extreme vexation she flicked one of my ears and I could not help a yelp, covering my wounded body part with a testy glower. I reached up against my own common sense and flicked her back. "Stop it, you idiot. I'm trying to land!" Idiot? I looked at Watson again, and he shrugged, looking blatantly uncertain of how to respond.

"There." She sighed with relief, and I winced when she put even more weight on my shoulder, digging one of her ribs painfully in. "Zed, you're lucky we didn't get caught."

"Lestrade, can you get off now?" I asked, disgusted by my own meek tone although I fear the woman had me trained with ear-flicks. Blasted, painful things that they were. She hastily moved off my shoulder, allowing me to roll it experimentally in order to reestablish blood flow. I didn't look back to see if she had turned pink again (Why I thought she would, I didn't know) as I opened the cruiser and leaped out. "Come, Watson!" I exclaimed as he joined me on the ground. "The Chief Inspector will be pleased to meet you, I think."

"You didn't finish telling me about Doctor Roylott, Holmes." Watson pointed out, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand, reminding me that he had interrupted the story with his impromptu illness. "Speaking of which, isn't it strange that Grimesby Roylott was the name of that dreadful man from Helen Stoner's peculiar case[1]?" I looked at him with a thin smile.

"My dear Watson, after two hundred years, even I must concede that it was simply a strange coincidence. Our Doctor Roylott had no biological children; therefore this modern day snake could have no immediate ancestry." I held out a hand on impulse to help Lestrade from the cruiser, and to my infinite surprise she grabbed it with both of hers and all but fell out. I held tight to her shoulders, and Watson came forward immediately.

He glanced over her with the all-seeing doctor's gaze that even I could not compare to. "Feeling a bit dizzy?" I moved when he beckoned me to, just in time to avoid whatever was left of Lestrade's lunch as it hit the ground. "There we are, my dear. Better out than in, as they say."

"They're full of sh—"

"Inspector! Er… you all right there?" I tried to hide behind Watson when Hopkins rounded the corner of the cruiser, but not in time, I fear, for he gave what could only be described as a squeal of delight at the sight of me. "Mister Holmes! Did you dye your hair?! Wow! Oh, are you on a case? Who's this?" How that lad ever came to be in the Yard was beyond me. I sighed, holding Watson still in a vice grip in case he decided to flee (not likely, but I was not tolerating Hopkins alone).

"Hello Hopkins. No, Hopkins. Do contain your enthusiasm to below two hundred decibels, Hopkins. No again, Hopkins. This is Doc—ah. A friend." Good Heavens, I couldn't forsake my closest friend to this torture. Watson glanced at me in puzzlement, and then stepped forward with a hand extended. "Good afternoon, sir! I am Doctor John Wa—agh!"

I hoped he would forgive my manhandling, but I couldn't let him do it to himself. I tightened my grip on his collar and smiled winningly at Hopkins, who looked as though he might melt into a puddle of utter joy. Usually I spared only the most unpleasant glares for the overeager constable, particularly when he took liberties, such as holding open doors and looking at me. I didn't want to think about the peculiar looks that lad gave me; they made me squirm. Indeed, a difficult thing to accomplish.

"Sorry, Hopkins! Gotta run!" Lestrade announced, snickering as she overcame her illness.

"Indeed, good afternoon Hopkins. Come along, Watson!" I pulled the good doctor behind me, still spluttering from the sudden attack.

"Wai-wait! John Watson?!"

We were already through the first set of doors, which had the pleasant effect of distracting Watson when he could very well have been irritated at my jostling. Instead, he was looking around with a wide-eyed expression I could recall very well, for I had sported it myself when first I had visited New Scotland Yard. "You are about to meet Chief Inspector Grayson, Watson. He will most likely be extremely rude; don't take it personally." I said quickly as we walked, seeking out the door we were in need of. "And that was young constable Hopkins. Overeager to a fault."

"He's not actually that overeager most of the time." I frowned at Lestrade, whose sharkish grin made me uneasy. "Holmes won't listen to me, but Hopkins just happens to have a lit-tle bit of an infatuation with the world's greatest detective." Not this again. I covered my eyes with one hand and sighed loudly.

"Lestrade, he does not."

"Remember that time when he held open the door for you?"

"His hand slipped!" I exclaimed, only just refraining from plugging my ears to avoid the unwanted topic of conversation. "I am certain his hand just slipped. Really, Inspector, you are making a mountain out of a molehill."

"Sure, Holmes." She continued to smile, though Watson now appeared so utterly disturbed that I wondered if he would be able sleep easy. "We all know his hand just happened to slip at the perfect time to—"

"Here we are, Watson! Chief Inspector Grayson's humble abode. If you would like to continue, Lestrade?" I shot her an utterly unamused glance, but she only stuck out her tongue in reply and pressed the intercom button, though before she had even removed her finger the door opened.

"Well, come in then!"

Ah, good. The chief inspector was 'on the ball', according to new age slang. That meant less explaining and such, which meant we could get out faster with less chance of meeting Hopkins again. "Chief Inspector Grayson. Good afternoon."

"Been experimenting with 'air dye, 'ave we?" I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at his tone, instead smiling in such a way that it was practically insulting.

"I fear it's perfectly natural, sir. If I may be so bold as to turn your attention to my good friend and colleague, Doctor Watson?" I waved him forward, and he extended a hand with that smile I had come to appreciate in our old days together.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Chief Inspector. This building is spectacular."

I glanced at Lestrade and we exchanged a smirk. Grayson was forever susceptible to flattery, and it applied in this case as well, for he shook Watson's hand immediately and without grousing. "'Bout time they started bringin' back the sensible ones, if you ask me. I've 'ad it up to 'ere with expired detectives runnin' 'round like they own the bleedin' place." I could not resist the slightest sneer at that, though I knew the man was much like the original Lestrade in that he said such things, yet would enter a state of bloody panic should I ever conveniently stop taking his difficult and convoluted cases.

Watson, ever the diplomat, continued to smile as he released Grayson's hand. "I'm glad you think so, though I'm pleased to be working with Mr. Holmes again. Inspector Lestrade, as well."

"Speakin' o' you, Lestrade, any word on Moriarty recently?"

"None at all, Chief. Besides a few contacts in—"

As they spoke, Watson sidled closer to me and I bent my head just slightly when he made an indication for me to lend an ear. "Is he… always so…"

"Grayson is much like an old hound, Watson, to use our own terms of old. His attention is not held for long by pleasantries." I murmured back, watching the pair before us. "He may bungle up many of my cases, but I respect the man for his tenacity and persistence."

"Some things don't change, do they?" Watson sighed, hands in his pockets. "Yarders are as ever."

"Indeed." I chuckled, feeling a blooming spire of delight erupt through my chest as I realized again that Watson truly was but a hair's breadth away. "He may not outsmart his quarry, but he often runs them to exhaustion and catches them that way."

"And you act as the hunter, I suppose. Guiding the pack and shooting the fox as it flees." He commented softly, and, dare I say, admiringly.

I shook my head, laying a hand on his shoulder in a strangely affectionate act I would never have employed in our time, but which had become quite common in my need to constantly assure myself of his existence. "I fear, Watson, my new fox has thus eluded every trap I have set." I admitted, thinking darkly of Moriarty's smugly grinning face.

Watson smiled menacingly in such a way I have scarcely seen. "I wouldn't say that shall be the case for long." He said furtively.

I looked at him with raised eyebrows, "Indeed, Watson. I quite forgot that you're an adept hunter yourself. Our fox will be rather surprised when you join the hunt, I imagine." I could not help but laugh then, drawing the attention of Lestrade and Grayson as I attempted to reign my mirth in, though when Watson started chuckling along I could only laugh harder, thinking all too clearly of the possible expressions upon Moriarty's face when we sprung our trap.

"I take it back." I heard Grayson mutter. "They're both bloomin' insane." He glanced at Lestrade, just in time to see her starting to laugh as well, though I hardly knew why she would be finding any amusement at all in the situation. "Good God, it's spreadin'." The chief inspector threw up his hands. "An' 'ere I'm s'posed t' be givin' you back yer privileges 'cause you're better!"

I took a deep breath and steadied myself on the desk displaying a map of New London. "No need to worry, Chief Inspector. We are all quite under control. As for Moriarty, I know very well where he will be tomorrow night, if that is any consolation."

"'Ow in blazes d'you know that?" Grayson exclaimed, and I waved a hand in the air to exemplify the simplicity of his inquiry.

"My dear Chief Inspector. I have expected this visit for some time. He believes me to be utterly alone and ripe for the picking, with er… the other Watson away. No one in New London knows of this Watson and his return to life." I extended my cane and gestured at Baker Street on the hologram. "I imagine he has waited for the opportune night—lately the weather has leaned towards exceptionally clear conditions; not the best for breaking and entering. Tomorrow evening shall be the first in weeks that will be suitable for his purposes, and therefore that is when I anticipate his strike."

"You're mad, 'Olmes. You think 'e's gonna go up there alone?" Grayson scoffed and I admit my eyes narrowed very slightly. "Fat chance o' that. 'E'll 'ave you both strung up by yer ankles."

Watson stepped forward to stand by me, politely clearing his throat. "If I may, Moriarty cannot anticipate what he doesn't know, Chief Inspector. We'll have the jump on him." I glanced sidelong at him and smiled. It was nice to have my Boswell back and ready for action. "We shall keep Inspector Lestrade on call, certainly, so the Yard would only be a transmission away. Right, Holmes?"

"Correct as always, Watson. What have I done without you?"

"Got into less trouble, for sure." Grayson snarled. "I'm still not convinced. Yer two 'as-been nineteenth century cast-off's. Why should I think you don' need backup like the rest of us, eh?"

"Why, Chief Inspector I thought it was obvious!" I said, more cheekily than I normally would. "We are Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson!"

There was a tense moment before Grayson fell into his seat with an oath, holding his forehead and muttering about 'Victorian quacks'. What worried me more was the expression I had seen flit across Lestrade's face. Had I not known better, I should have thought she looked wounded.

[1]The Speckled Band: A canonical story used for the basis of the SH22 episode 'Scales of Justice'. Grimesby Roylott (in the original story) is responsible for the death of one of his stepdaughter and plans to kill the other using the same method; a venomous snake from India. He also tails his step daughter to Holmes's flat and threatens him should he continue investigating by bending an iron poker with his bare hands. After he leaves, Holmes unbends the poker and comments that "I am not quite so bulky, but if he had remained I might have shown him that my grip was not much more feeble than his own."