A 442B (double 221B) to cheer you up!

*hands peaceandlove23, Lily McMissile, and cjnwriter handkerchiefs for the last chapter* Sorry I made you cry! Here are some virtual cookies, specialty of Lestrade's wife! (Psst: SHE MAKES AWESOME COOKIES.)

Okay, onward with the story!

Upon entering the sitting room of Baker Street one day, I immediately began coughing. The dense cloud of smoke was so dark that I couldn't even see one meter in front of me. For a moment I was afraid that the rooms had caught fire, but then I remembered Holmes's smoking habit.

Not that it was much better than having our rooms go up in flames.

"Holmes- (inhale)- you're going to choke yourself- (gasp)- this-isn't-healthy- (cough)- FOR GOODNESS' SAKE, MAN, OPEN THE BLASTED WINDOW, AT LEAST!" I bellowed as loud as I could with the thick smoke assailing my throat.

Out of the depths of the room came an infuriatingly sardonic reply. "Watson, don't fuss so much. I am perfectly fine, as you can hear."

I muttered grumpily to myself and tried to make my way to the window. Unfortunately, I was not able to see anything, and tripped over what felt to be...Holmes's violin. As I pitched head first into the wall, I threw up my arms to protect my head.

Even more unfortunately, I did not hit the wall, but the window. As thousand little shards of glass assaulted my arms, I heard Holmes's startled cry above the tinkle of breaking glass. The instant I struck the windowsill, I warily opened my eyes and realized that my whole torso was dangling from the window of 221B.

I wondered hazily what the neighbors would think. Most likely, they would fear for our sanity.

Holmes dragged me back into the relative safety of our sitting room, with a remorseful look on his face. "I am never going to smoke again!" he declared melodramatically as he fetched my medical bag.

I took the bag and began cleaning my cuts. "Holmes, I really doubt you could ever abstain from smoking."

"That's true..." he muttered. Suddenly, he turned to me, a wry smile on his face. "Well, at least you got the window open, eh, old boy?"

I glared at him. "I'd punch you if it weren't for all these cuts on my arm!" The cuts were numerous, but shallow, despite all the blood they were dripping. At Holmes's suddenly worried face I laughed. "Don't worry, it looks worse than it is!"

Holmes sighed in relief, though I could still sense some underlying worry. "All right, I won't smoke for a week! How's that?"

Instead of a reply, I merely snorted. Suddenly, Holmes's face turned ashen, and as I turned around to see what it was, mine did as well.
Mrs. Hudson swooped into the room and stopped in shock. After ensuring thatI was all right, what I had dreaded came to be true.

She began yelling at us about the window that was broken.