Sorry I haven't been updating that often! I was frantically writing Doctor Who stuff to counteract my post-regeneration angst.
Have some fic! XD
Holmes stared balefully down at the object in his hand, a look of deepening horror in his eyes. "This is the eighth one today!" he exclaimed.
I stifled a smile. "Tenth, I should think."
"Ten," he replied, frowning. "Ten of these blasted things! Why must they persist in torturing me in this manner?"
"Holmes, old chap, you're overreacting."
"Overreacting, my foot. It's all that Paget chap's fault. He's a rubbish illustrator."
"Holmes!" I said reproachingly. "I rather think he caught your likeness well."
"That may be, but he had to give me that hat! And now these people- some of whom I don't even know- continually pester me with these- these things!" His face held an expression of mock anguish.
"Holmes," I said, jerking my head toward the expectant fan before us in an effort to remind my friend of his manners.
Holmes sighed, signed the deerstalker hat, gave it back to its owner with a flourish, and grumpily prepared to sign the next one, scowl looking like it could rival the night sky in its blackness.
