221b
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the affiliated characters or ideas--their creator is the remarkable Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
KS: I know I appearto be neglecting my 'better' fics, such as Two Suspects and The Case of the Entreating Woman, but really it's just due to a lack of time to devote to my writing (as well as my drawing...). So in the meanwhile, here's another random 221B.
Enjoy!
"It was a rather interesting theory," said Watson thoughtfully as he and Sherlock Holmes turned onto Regent Street.
"Interesting, perhaps, but completely erroneous," Holmes declared with a confident swing of his walking stick. "Lestrade is still not using his imagination, despite my repeated suggestions that he do so."
"Then what do you think the solution is?"
"I cannot with good consciousness give a theory until I am absolutely certain…"
"Of course."
"…But I do know that Jeremiah Croft is not a man to be trusted--"
Suddenly Holmes's aquiline face whipped around, and in an instant he had tackled Watson to the street. A great chestnut horse charged up onto the pavement, trampling exactly where they had been standing just moments before. The driver shouted curses as well as orders at the unruly creature to seemingly little avail, and just as quickly as it had charged up it turned back onto the busy thoroughfare and clopped speedily away.
Holmes and Watson lay panting on the ground for a moment afterward, watching the great vehicle disappear from sight among London's teeming streets.
"Are you quite all right, Watson?" Holmes asked, turning to his friend.
Watson blinked, massaging his shoulder with a grimace, for he had landed upon it.
"I suppose so," he said at last. "Did anyone get the number of that 'bus?"
Silly last line, I know, but thanks for reading and please, review!