My stories have gotten over 200 views, and most of them for this series! Now I don't know if that means you people like them, or if it just means there's one person out there clicking the 'Refresh' button like it's their job, but thank you! Here's an update ^_^


Two days later the sitting room still looked like a wounded bear had charged through wielding a flamethrower. There were still bits of glass on the floor and at least one chair was lopsided due to an injured leg or three.

Chairs weren't the only things with wounded limbs. Watson had made a show of ignoring his injury, but the throbbing pain and Holmes's insistence soon had him back on the couch. Occasionally he got up and hobbled around the flat as if he had something to do, but cleaning did not mix well with a limp and Mrs. Hudson was looking after his every possible need. She had made enough cups of tea to quench the thirst of an army. Every time he woke there was shortbread, or sandwiches, or soup. He was beginning to think she liked having an invalid about the place.

Surprisingly, however, it wasn't Mrs. Hudson making the biggest fuss. It was Holmes. Watson had never seen his flatmate so attentive, so compassionate - or so repentant. He played Watson's favorite songs on the violin, sat quietly in his chair and did not fuss about, and he refused to go anywhere near the chemistry set. In the end it was Watson himself, with some help from the obliging landlady, who cleared up the last of the spilled chemicals and broken bits of equipment. He was not upset with Holmes for his role in this disaster - in fact, once the pain went away he found the whole thing rather amusing. Of course, he didn't feel it necessary to make Holmes aware of this fact.

Dr. Watson was rewarded for his silence with two straight months experiment-free.