From Madam'zelleGiry - Quite a literal taste of "boxing day."

When I found myself sharing rooms with such an unusual fellow as my friend Sherlock Holmes, I had little to do other than observe my fellow-lodger. It was quite fortunate for me that he proved to be the most interesting man I had met in a long time, and even after the events of the case I would later title A Study in Scarlet, I continued to observe him and to try and determine his habits.

It was during September of 1881, and my companion had left me alone for most of the week, going out at night and not returning until the odd hours of the morning. I thought little of this, as his hours were unusual, until he emerged from his bedroom to breakfast with an enormous bruise covering his cheek. "Holmes!" I cried. "What happened?"

"This?" he asked, motioning to the bruise and beginning to butter himself some toast with hardly a care for it. "It is common enough in my profession, Watson. I must become accustomed to it."

Naturally, this did not have the calming effect he undoubtedly anticipated. I stared at him. "Holmes, did someone attack you on a case? Are you alright? Why did you not ask for my assistance if it was to be a dangerous assignment?"

Holmes laughed to see my concern. "Come, Watson, it is not all that bad. I am sure that I shall be fine in a few days, if I can avoid something similar happening again."

I put down my forkful of eggs in some worry. "Holmes, are you going somewhere tonight? If there is even a chance of your being attacked, I insist you allow me to accompany you!"

"Very well, Watson, if you insist," my friend said wearily. "I assure you, it is not what you think."

That night, Holmes led me to a side street I had never been on before, in an area of London not known for its quality. "Is this where you have been going? You ought to know better than to come here without a companion?" I whispered to him.

"It is not – ah, here it is," Holmes said, opening the door to a nondescript building. The room inside was full of people, many of whom were drinking and talking excitedly. I looked around in some trepidation, my gaze finally landing on a ring in the center of the room. My eyes widened in understanding.

"A boxing club?" I inquired, and Holmes nodded.

"Indeed, Watson. I have found the art of pugilism useful in the past, and in the absence of a case, I decided to use the time to sharpen my skills." He went up to the organizers' table and put his name down for a match, then sat next to me in the front row.

"This is not what I expected," I said as the first fight started. "I knew you had boxed but I did not know you were still involved in the sport."

"As an amateur only," Holmes said, eyes on the ring as two men twice his size battled it out in front of us. "After all, my goal is to use the skills in my profession as detective, not as a boxer per se."

"Holmes and Carrew!" the referee called, and my friend handed me his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. I looked at his opponent. While he was no heavier than Holmes, he was considerably more muscled, and I eyed my lean companion with some worry.

Holmes smiled. "Do not worry, Watson, I shall be fine. Besides, I owe him for the bruise he left on my cheek the last time we met."

"This is the fellow who beat you?" I asked, but Holmes had already entered the ring. Soon the two were circling around each other, each sizing up his opponent.

Soon, the match started, and it was, I believe, unmatched in its ferocity. I know little about boxing, as I was always a rugby man myself, but I soon determined that Holmes was a controlled, careful fighter. I watched him methodically searching for his opponent's weakness, using his lightness to remain quick on his feet and out of arm's reach. He is tiring the fellow out, I realized.

His opponent, Carrew, was entirely the opposite. Evidently used to relying on his strength, he attacked with a fierceness that would have caused a lesser man to quail. I confess I gasped aloud when I saw him land multiple punches on my fellow-lodger, only to realize that Holmes was allowing him to do so. Once I realized that my friend was entirely in control of what seemed to be a violent brawl, I relaxed and even began to find the match exciting. I could easily see why Holmes, so solitary and self-controlled, had turned to boxing as his sport of choice.

It was over more quickly than I had expected, after Holmes delivered a harsh uppercut, knocking Carrew backward, where he fell and didn't get up. The referee declared Holmes the winner and he came back to sit next to me with a small smile of satisfaction. "Now he and I are even," he said. "An excellent fight. You see, Watson, it took me some time to determine what strategy to use against him, but once I did, it was quite easy."

"Holmes, your lip is bleeding," I said, pulling out my handkerchief and handing it to him. "Here, press on it and the bleeding will stop. Does anything else hurt?"

Holmes shook his head, pressing my handkerchief to his lip and then smiled. "Not at all, Doctor. Although I assure you that if I ever do find myself in need of medical care, I shall certainly come to you."

I blinked. "Oh. Well, thank you, Holmes."

"Not at all, Watson," Holmes said. "Just as I hope you will come to me should you ever have a mystery that needs to be solved."

I laughed. "Of course, Holmes. Who else would I go to? You are the only consulting detective in the world!"