AN: Sorry for another on-the-shorter-side prompt response, but I'm a little busy settling into a quiet university life of studying and attending lectures. Which I intend to get started on once the parties stop. Class of 2012! Gonna get me an X ring!
"Oh, bugger."
The two men were standing in the sitting room, blanketed with papers. Had they been Holmes's papers, the situation would have been entirely normal. They were, however, Watson's papers, and the good doctor was on the verge of having a thrombosis.
"Look on the bright side," chirped Holmes, praying the fact that he had been the one who left the window open (truly, it was Mrs. Hudson's fault, insisting on silly, feminine things like ventilation). "At least most of them didn't blow away."
Watson glared with every iota of Scottish fury he could muster. "Holmes, do you have any idea how many papers were in that folio?!"
Glancing around the room, Holmes offered "Enough to coat the floor…?"
"It's going to be damn near impossible to get all these back in order!"
"Well, didn't you date them?"
"I dated the title pages, but not the stories themselves. Oh, for the love of god, it's going to take weeks to sort these all out…" The order would become mere guesswork…
"Ah, well… I hope the one about how you injured your leg wasn't blown away. I rather liked that one."