Okay, I know, I know, I'm running way behind, but I promise there are more on the way! The first draft of this chapter is not so much snippet-ish as this one and more heart-warming. Let me know if you want me to post it here too!

Today's prompt: Charles Dickens

From: Madam'zelleG

And one cookie each to everyone who gets the references!

"Manning, Tom Smith, what are you doing here?" Holmes demanded, upon emerging from his bedroom only to see two of his Irregulars in the sitting room being patched up by Thorn and Watson. (Tom Smith's nickname was added to his surname because there were two other Smiths in the band, Laughlin – or Locky – and Harry.)

All three Irregulars turned red as Holmes nipped closer to inspect the injuries. There was a cut across Tom's cheek, one under his chin, and several along his arm. Ozzy Manning was bruised in a way that meant a fall, and over his usual rags he wore a white smock that had seen better days, a rope belt, and a crown of leaves.

On the rug next to Tom lay a motley chain of little metal odds and ends found in rubbish bins all tied together with string.

"What on earth were you boys acting out?"

Watson hid his face in the slash on Tom's leg that he was treating, most likely to hide the amused expression creeping across it. "Guess it."

Holmes's knowledge of literature was almost entirely limited to whatever he deemed necessary for his work and whatever he saw fit to entertain himself with when he was between cases; that is, criminology and philosophy. The story that the Irregulars were trying to act out was likely not within his purview.

He flopped down on the couch and crossed one leg over the other, looking at the group over his tented hands. "No."

"No?"

"Obviously, if boys between the ages of ten and twenty all find this work worth reproducing on as much of a stage as they can find, it cannot be anything I prefer."

"Perhaps it can."

"I think not."

"I think you know it can."

"I do not."

"You do too." Watson challenged him with an expression that meant 'Secrets have been exposed'.

"I do not." The detective uncrossed his legs and bent forward, leaning down so that he was almost nose-to-nose with the brunet. They were all but breathing into each other's faces, a sort of half-intimacy touched with boyish playfulness the other boys could not help but appreciate.

"You do too." They were smiling now, daring one another to give in.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes.

"I do not." Holmes paused and turned to face the other occupants of the room. "Watson, I do believe we have an audience. Kindly treat the boys and send them on their way before continuing the argument."

The detective's doctor laughed at last, gesturing at the boys before telling them that yes, they were good, and yes, they might want to leave before Mrs. Hudson discovered what Tom's dirty chain had done to the carpet. "Really, Holmes, have you no appreciation for any Charles Dickens?"