Author's Note: I realise I've managed to cram what would have otherwise been four or five chapters of train travel high jinks with Holmes, Irene and Watson into one, but I thought that the train thing had probably run its course. As for the chapter name, those of you who have seen (and this is how incredibly cool I am :P) The Great Mouse Detective (animated Disney FTW) will understand the reference :) As always, thank you for reading/reviewing..it's very much appreciated! :D

The next morning, Watson awoke with a restored sense of contentment and well-being he had not felt in weeks. He opened his eyes slowly, lethargically, as if he had all the time in the world. He saw no need to rise in a hurry – his trunk and portmanteau, already packed the previous night, lay at the end of the bed in preparation for their departure.

When at last Watson roused himself to wash and dress, he did so with a loping indolence; pondering longer than usual over what he should wear and how he should wear it. Dressing was no easy task at present, what with one leg completely out of use. Using the crutch for support, he fetched his chosen garments from the armoire and returned to the bed to sit down. Dressing from the waist upwards was easiest, this requiring the use of only his arms, and so his shirt went on first with the buttons fastened and the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. The application of his suit trousers was a rather painful experience – the material just would not slide over his leg easily, necessitating the movement of the knee. Thus, Watson had learned to get the process over and done with as quickly as possible.

He hissed as the ligaments strained, but the pain was gone as soon as it had come. He pulled on first one sock and then the other with equal delicate care. Then came his shoes, and at last Watson was ready for breakfast.

Limping slowly down the corridor, he knocked twice on Irene and Holmes' door.

"Breakfast?" He peered around the doorframe into the room where, through a cloud of cigarette fumes, Holmes could be glimpsed sitting in the armchair, pipe in his mouth.

"Ohhh must I?" Holmes asked, petulant as always. "Digestion is such a futile process..."

"Yes, Holmes, you must." Watson hobbled into the room and pulled open the shutters. The sound of his friend's objectionable moans was music to his ears – it was almost like old times! "There's a big day ahead, so let's make the most of our last Indian breakfast, shall we?"

Ten minutes later, a dishevelled Holmes was dragged under much protest to breakfast in the palace hall by his best friend.

"You know, I'm going to miss this," Watson said with his mouth full as he and Holmes sat breakfasting around the table.

"What?"

"This fruit." Watson pointed with his fork to a bright yellow, green-skinned singularity which sat upon his plate. "Simply delicious. I wish that it was available at home...It's quite remarkable!"

"Watson, you're beside yourself." Holmes set down his own fork, with which he had been idly pushing a piece of bread around his plate for some minutes. "What exactly has prompted this frankly sickening cheerfulness?"

"I'm tired of India, beautiful and mysterious as it is," Watson said. "I want to step over the threshold of my own house; to hold my daughters; to kiss my wife; to treat my patients..." He smiled. "What can I say, Holmes? We're returning home – I'm happy."

"Well I do hope it's not contagious."

"There's a bee in your bonnet," Watson commented, taking another piece of fruit and cutting off the skin with his knife. "Come on, I haven't got all day. What's on your mind now?"

Holmes did not answer, and Watson nodded somewhat understandingly, realising his mistake.

"Of course. There's nothing on your mind at all, that's the problem, isn't it? Old cases end, Holmes, but then new cases crop up and so begins the cycle again." He swallowed a final mouthful of fruit and dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. "You really shouldn't let it frustrate you so when the case has run its course."

In actual fact, Watson's assumption that Holmes' insipidness of the mind was due to lack of stimulus could not have been further from the truth. There was something big and ominous clouding the detective's ordinarily agile intellect today – a detail of the Queen's Sapphire Case he had yet to resolve completely. The truth of the matter was shockingly clear to Holmes, but oh how he wished that that there was an alternative explanation. Tact had never been a concept Holmes was well-versed in, but he knew that there was a time and a place to discuss such suspicions (and frankly, such fears) with the one whom they concerned. In short, he would wait until the time was right before confronting Irene. Only then would he be given the answer he was searching for.

Later, once Watson was satisfied himself and had finally given up hope of encouraging Holmes to eat anything at all, the pair made their way up to their lodgings, aware that this was possibly the last time they would be doing so. Holmes, of course, had not even begun to pack up his belongings, and so the doctor insisted they start at once.

Under Watson's vigilant eye, Holmes gathered up his clothes, books and belongings from around the room and threw them onto the bed. Watson folded every garment and placed it into the suitcase, and within an hour they were done.

"We have..." Watson took out his pocket watch and studied the hands for a few seconds. "...Approximately an hour before we need to start making our way back towards the train station. Don't forget it's going to be a long journey back, so wear breathable clothes."

"Yes, of course."

"And for goodness sake, make yourself presentable."

"As you wish, Mother."

"Only I'm sure the elephants are looking forward to seeing you!" Watson grinned, enjoying the way Holmes' smug expression straightened out with his words, giving way to one of affronted distaste.

"Anyhow, I think I'll attempt an amble around the gardens before we have to head off." Leaning heavily on his crutch, Watson hoisted himself off the bed and used his free hand to straighten his suit. He may have been an invalid, but that was no excuse for untidiness. "Would you care to join me?" He looked up, but Holmes had already settled himself into his armchair and taken out his pipe. Without a glance towards his friend, the detective pulled out a white handkerchief (bizarrely embroidered with a set of entwined pink initials) and placed it over his eyes.

"Right." Watson rolled his eyes and threw open the door. "Of course, I'll go by myself, don't worry yourself, you stay right there and relax."

"If you insist..." The first plumes of tobacco smoke wafted up from Holmes' pipe as Watson shut the door in his wake. As he limped leisurely through the trees and bushes in the palace gardens, he felt his mind wandering towards thoughts of his brooding friend. Experience had told him, however, that it was both useless and a waste of his time to get involved. When Holmes had got to the bottom of this latest quandary, Watson was confident he would learn about it in time. He brought his thoughts back to Mary, Rose and Tilly back home in London. Looking around him, Watson realised that as beautiful as the Kashmir gardens were, he had never before been more anxious to return home.

And just a mere forty minutes later, he was preparing to do just that. As Watson was in no fit state to drag the luggage cart as he had been forced to do on their arrival, the newly-appointed Captain Hawthorne and three of his men aided in the transportation of the trunks and cases which contained all of the three guest's belongings. Watson was pleased to note that no projectiles were hurled in their wake this time around. In fact, they did not see any locals whatsoever as they made their way through the small village and to the outskirts where the same barefoot Indian man was waiting with what appeared to be the same elephants by his side.

"The villagers are in mourning," Hawthorne explained. "Two members of the Royal Family have passed away this week, and tradition calls for a significant period of remembrance."

When the carts came to rest, Hawthorne bent at the spine and helped his men to offload the trunks which would be strapped to the back of the elephants for transportation. "It really has been a pleasure having you all here," he said with an easy smile, straightening up. "I fear I've rather become used to your presence – it will be strange for a while without you." He clicked his teeth in frustration as one of the junior officers danced a jig for the amusement of his friends up on the now empty luggage cart. "When you're quite finished, Callaghan!"

"I think you're going to have your hands full, Captain." Watson grinned, offering Hawthorne a hand which the latter took and pumped firmly with only a slight blush. "A few weeks of back-breaking responsibility and you'll scarcely notice we're gone!"

"I've inherited a circus," Hawthorne said with a wry smile, shaking his head in the direction of his men. "That said, it's nothing a spot of manual work won't sort out. I hear there are some floors in the palace in need of a good scrub..."

"I take it you will be adopting a rather different control policy to that of your predecessor?" Holmes enquired, second in line for a handshake from the new Captain.

"I plan to begin cooperative negotiations with the Maharaja as soon as the mourning period is over," Hawthorne answered. "Things are going to be very different around here from now on; you can count on that, Mr Holmes."

"I am glad to hear it."

"The Empire will be far from pleased, I suppose," Hawthorne said with a mischievous grin, "But what Her Majesty is not informed of won't cause her any harm..."

"You're going to do great things here, Jimbo." Irene gave Hawthorne her hand to kiss before pulling him into a tight embrace. "I'm just sorry I won't be here to see them."

"I feel sure we'll meet again," Hawthorne said. He looked over his shoulder to Holmes. "Look after her, Mr Holmes. Though I am quite sure she's capable of looking after herself!"

"You'd better believe it." Irene was hoisted onto her elephant, unable to conceal her smile at the pained expression upon the countenance of Holmes. It was clear to all present that this was the part of the journey he had been dreading.

Irene felt a pang of sadness coarse through her veins as the elephant shuddered beneath her and began its first plodding steps away from Hawthorne and his men who still stood grouped by the edge of the village to wave them off. The new Captain had been a great friend to her; her rock when nobody else was on hand to help. Leaving him was proving to be more difficult than she had first anticipated, but she would not let it show of course. Hawthorne held secrets of hers which could decimate the progression of what was already an unstable relationship between herself and Holmes. Although she had a nasty feeling he would already have worked out the truth for himself, she was determined that they would not discuss it. For this reason alone, she was glad to be leaving Hawthorne behind. The further away he was, the less likely it was that Holmes would procure key information from the young Captain. With its brothers by its side, Irene's elephant began the arduous journey through the jungle, carrying its beautiful passenger with care towards an uncertain future. What would follow would be pleasant enough, she assured herself; just so long as Holmes remained in the dark...

There followed the longest and arguably the hardest two weeks of Watson's life. His return to England, home, wife and daughters could not come quick enough, and once or twice he had to suppress the urge to go to the front of the train and harass the driver, despite the fact that he knew his doing so was unlikely to make the journey pass any quicker.

Holmes was no help of course, preferring instead to remain in the smoking room amidst an ever-present smog of tobacco fumes, or else locked in his room with a stash of Watson's surgical chemicals beneath his mattress which he thought the doctor did not know about.

"There's something on his mind," Watson remarked to Irene as they breakfasted together one morning. The train was speeding briskly through North-Eastern Bulgaria and Watson's good mood had been restored, safe in the knowledge that the longest part of their journey was drawing to a close. "It's anybody's guess what it is I'm afraid."

Irene nodded but did not speak. She appeared to be far away in mind, and Watson noticed her silence with apt concern for her wellbeing. "Irene, is everything alright?" he asked.

"Never better, doc." She grinned, though it lacked its usual sparkle. "Guess I'm just looking forward to being home; well, back in England anyway..."

She bit resolutely into a second slice of toast as if this ended their conversation. Watson, however, was unconvinced by her excuses. He himself was greatly anticipating their return to London, but felt that his temperament under the circumstances was far brighter than his American friend's.

Watson took up his crutch from beside his chair and heaved himself up, wincing slightly as the still damaged muscles behind his knee contracted. He laid a hand on the still-sitting Irene's shoulder.

"You know where I am if you need my assistance."

"If I ever need a door kicked in, I'll be sure to defer to your expertise."

Little more than a fortnight had passed before Watson finally heard the sound he had been waiting for – the gentle thud of the train's buffers meeting the end of the track at Victoria Station in London. A wave of relief washed over him with the realisation that he was at last home, mere miles away from his beloved wife and daughters.

"Welcome home, doc." Watson turned his head to find Irene at his shoulder, smiling mischievously and dressed modestly in a navy blue skirt and matching jacket.

"I've missed it." Watson, the gentleman that he was, took Irene's handheld bag from her. He was still not able to move far without the crutch, but was satisfied with the rate of healing so far. Testing his weight on the injured knee and finding that it did not cause him too much pain, he stepped down from the train onto the platform, closely followed by Irene. Holmes emerged a minute later looking as though he had only just woken up, despite the fact that it was getting on for a quarter to nine at night.

A long and awkward silence followed – Irene and Holmes, though they had shared a room for the duration of the journey, had barely spoken since they had left India.

"Well," Watson said finally, clearing his throat and turning to Irene. "It's been a great pleasure to have got to know you properly over the past month, Miss Adler." He caught Holmes' eye and added – "I assume it is Miss Adler now we are back, unless you two have a happy announcement you'd care to make..?"

"Just 'Irene' will do fine," she said, laughing as she pulled Watson into a light hug. "Goodbye, doctor. It's been fun; I'm sure we'll see each other again soon."

"How soon is 'soon'?" Watson asked, watching as his bags were loaded onto a waiting cab. He was unsure of how long it would be before he was ready to handle another dose of Irene Adler quite as potent as the one he had recently experienced.

"Sooner than you think." Irene kissed Watson's cheek in a friendly manner, smiling as he flushed with flattery.

"I'll be seeing you soon I imagine old chap." Watson gave Holmes a pat on the back. "The next case awaits; you will let me know if there's anything I can do..?"

"Naturally." Holmes nodded. "Always a pleasure to work with you Watson." They shook hands, formal as always though they had been friends for years.

With a final nod and smile for Irene, Watson hoisted himself into the cab and pulled the door shut.

"Cavendish Place, please. As quick as you can."

In a clatter of hooves and harnesses, the two horses at the front of the cart pulled tight against their bits and hoisted the cab off along the street.

Holmes and Irene were left alone together outside the station, and both knew without a doubt that Watson had left in a hurry deliberately. He seemed determined to see them speaking again, and although they had never told him as much, Holmes suspected the discerning doctor had guessed all of what had happened in their room on that night...

Before either could speak however, a cab driver who had been at the end of the street when Irene had waved brought his horses to a stop before the station and bade Irene climb aboard. Holmes looked as though he was about to speak but thought better of it.

"Thank you, Sherlock," Irene said finally, uneasily. "I'm...Indebted to you. Again." She managed a smile. "You saved my life...and cleared my name!"

"In a sense."

Irene was taken aback at his words, but she worked it out eventually. "Well you got there in the end," she said, somewhat embarrassed. As embarrassed as Irene Adler was capable of feeling – she was in reality rather sore that Holmes had kept the Sapphire from her, especially after all the effort it had required of her to take it...

Her trunks now fully loaded and her departure imminent, it occurred to Irene that she was once again about to walk away from Sherlock Holmes with no promises of another association in the near future. There was so much she wanted to say, yet so little she knew how to put into words.

"Goodbye," she said finally, smiling softly. "And good luck, Sherlock." She would have liked to kiss him, but something in his eyes stopped her. His judicious, mistrustful expression bore into her like the sun's rays and she was forced to look away. This was not about the Sapphire, this was something more, but she could not bring herself to speak. Instead she patted his chest with both palms and turned her back.

"Irene..."

She heard him well enough but did not turn around. There was nothing more to say. She waited until the cab was out of sight of the station before she allowed the first tears to fall...