From Hades Lord of the Dead: Holmes and Watson get competitive

"Watson!"

I smothered a laugh, ducking the pillow flying across the room.

"Maybe you will listen to me next time," I replied as he scowled, irritated at my most recent prank. I dared to hope this one would successfully end this particular prank war.

After all, he had never managed to tie me to the settee.

"Untie me!"

I could not quite kill an amused grin as he again tried and failed to reach the knots securing his hands and feet to the furniture. I had tied the ropes in such a way that he had plenty of room to move and reach anything on the nearby table, where I had left a pitcher and a glass of water, but he could not reach far enough to release himself. Given enough time, he could probably work his way free, but he was stuck for the moment.

"Why should I?" I asked. "You showed far too much mobility the other day, scattering my things throughout the city, and I heard you down here pacing until early this morning. The rest will do you good."

Unable to fully hide his own amusement behind irritation, he turned his head, hiding his expression in a cushion as he fought to reach the ends of the rope. I had pulled off a successful—and highly amusing—prank, no matter that he would never admit as much. Even better, he would never be able to turn this around, as I did not sleep heavily enough, nor could he slip a sedative into my drink.

"Doctor?" Mrs. Hudson's voice faintly carried up the stairs, her timing impeccable as always. "Message for you."

I pulled myself to my feet, and Holmes' gaze shot up to stare at me as he realized I was leaving the room.

"Watson!" he said again, though this was more pleading than frustrated. It was as close as he would come to begging me not to leave him.

I made no response, however, chuckling as I moved to peer over the railing.

"Did it work?" she faintly whispered.

I nodded, and her grin matched mine. Holmes had been making an irritant of himself for the last several weeks, and Mrs. Hudson had finally decided to help me in our ongoing prank war after one of them made a mess in her rooms.

"In the kitchen?" I asked for Holmes' benefit as Mrs. Hudson silently climbed the stairs. "I will be there in a moment."

Moving just far enough toward the stairs to cover the deception, I stopped talking as Mrs. Hudson turned around at the top, closely—and loudly—approximating my own limping steps on the descent. Using her noise as cover, I quietly moved back toward the sitting room to crouch near the knot I had tied just out of Holmes' line of sight.

Grumbling sounded from the settee as Holmes fought to work his way free, his muttering probably related to my tying him to the settee and leaving him there. I could not make out most of the words, but I had to smother a laugh when I caught something about "doctors acting like sailors and tying confounded knots in impossible places."

Something hit the floor with a thump, and he fell silent, perhaps listening to see if I was hurrying back at the noise. He resumed his struggling a moment later as Mrs. Hudson initiated the second half of her part.

Footsteps sounded downstairs, the tapping of my cane mixing with her steps, and she loudly unlatched the door.

"I'll check on him in a bit," she said as if I was leaving. "Maybe Lestrade will come by with a case."

Waiting a few seconds to make Holmes believe he simply could not hear a reply, she latched the door, and her footsteps moved away from the door as Holmes called out again.

"Mrs. Hudson! Mrs. Hudson!"

My laugh nearly escaped, but her footsteps never faltered, fading back to the kitchen. Holmes' grumbling renewed, his vocabulary gaining more variety at the idea that I had left the flat, and I could hear him pulling against one rope to reach another. I waited until he relied on the tension to hold himself up before releasing the knot at my feet.

He landed with a thump on the floor, and I peeked through the cracked doorway, fighting to control my laughter.

He had fallen on his side, the ropes quickly loosening to pile around him, and he quickly unfastened the knots on his wrists and picked himself up with a scowl. Following the ropes back to where I had joined them behind the settee, he needed only a moment to realize what I had done, and his gaze shot over to the doorway a moment later, the word coming out very close to a growl.

"Watson!"

I smirked and pushed the door open.

"Maybe you should think twice before you scatter my belongings around the city," I replied.

"If I have to search your room for my things," he shot back, untying the knots on his ankles, "why not make you search the city for yours?"

"Because then you get tied to a piece of furniture. I never did find my pipe, you know. I should have left you there longer."

He scowled at me again but made no reply, inspecting the ropes for another moment before disappearing into his room. He did not go fast enough to hide the amusement lighting his gaze, however. While he had not conceded the prank war, I doubted he would retaliate today.

I settled in my chair with a novel, hoping the eventual retaliation did not sacrifice anything too important. I could not ask him to leave my things alone without forfeiting the prank war—and I was far too competitive for that—but I had no wish for anything else to go missing. This prank war had been going for nearly a month, but a half-written manuscript, a recently bought novel, and my pipe had never reappeared after he apparently swiped them. Perhaps Mrs. Hudson would make us stop before he lost something else.

"Go to bed, Watson."

I waved him off, smothering a yawn as I did so. "I want to finish this first."

He frowned at me from his bedroom doorway. He had been moving things around in his room while I worked, and several hours after releasing him from the settee, I had nearly finished rewriting the manuscript he had misplaced. I would never be able to send this off in the morning as I had originally intended, but anything on paper was better than missing or blank sheets. While I knew the original had been superior to this version, I hoped I would at least be able to edit what I had back to something close to what the first had been.

Footsteps sounded, and he leaned over my shoulder a moment later.

"Why are you rewriting that case?"

"Why do you think?" I replied, trying not to growl at the thought. I had never expected him to steal one of my manuscripts, but he had, and I had given up thinking he would return it. I would just have to replace it. It would do neither of us any good for me to remonstrate him.

Silence answered my half rhetorical question, and I wrote another sentence before I continued, "Go to bed. I'll try to be quiet."

He lingered behind me for a moment longer, but when I ignored him, he set the tea tray on the table behind me and disappeared into his room. His movements quieted a few minutes later, and I focused on finishing a first draft as the night slipped away.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."

The low words roused me, and I found myself slumped over my desk with a stack of papers as a pillow. I pushed myself upright with a faint groan, slowly stretching.

"Awake then, Watson?" Holmes asked from behind me.

I merely grumbled, not yet awake enough to talk as I reorganized my papers into a neat stack. I hated falling asleep at my desk; I was always stiff the next morning.

Holmes made no further comment, though I could feel his gaze on me as I finished at my desk and moved to the table. A cup of coffee appeared at my place, and I nodded my thanks as I sat down and took a drink.

The coffee quickly landed back in the cup as I nearly gagged. He had poured at least a tablespoon of salt into my cup.

"Holmes!"

He smirked, buttering a piece of toast though his gaze never left me. "Good," he said. "You are awake enough to talk. Are you going to answer my question now?"

I scowled darkly, far from awake enough to banter with him as I set the tainted coffee aside. The coffee in the pot smelled fine, and I poured a fresh cup before taking a cautious sip.

"Which one?" I finally grunted, deciding to use cream instead of sugar today.

"Why were you rewriting your manuscript?"

"You should be able to figure that out yourself," I muttered, eating quickly and not in the greatest mood. I was still irritated that he had stolen it, I was stiff from sleeping at my desk, and salt in my coffee had been a ruder awakening than I had wanted. It would probably do me good to spend the day out of the flat. Maybe I would take a novel to the park.

"Not enough data."

I huffed, hurriedly finishing my plate and grabbing a piece of toast to take with me. How was I supposed to proofread a manuscript I no longer had? I needed to leave before I lost my temper while half-asleep. That was never good.

"It is rather hard to edit the first one after you stole it."

I did not wait for him to reply, detouring to my room to freshen up and choose a book before heading toward the bench I favored. A few hours in the sun would do wonders.

Several hours later, I returned in a much better mood. The day had been wonderfully warm, and a quiet day spent reading a book had quelled most of my lingering irritation, with a good portion of the rest fading behind a stop I had made at a booth up the street. Perhaps I would start editing the rewritten manuscript tonight.

Holmes looked up from his chemistry table as I stepped through the door, seeing with a glance all I had done over the day, and I dug in a pocket.

"Here."

He barely caught the small object I tossed across the room, and his curiosity disappeared beneath amused irritation when a stream of water hit him in the face. I laughed.

"That's for the coffee this morning."

The amusement he could not kill effectively ruined the scowl he directed at me, but he simply wiped away the water as he turned back to his chemistry set. I moved further into the room, setting my finished novel aside and moving to sit in my desk chair.

A stack of papers and a book sat in the middle of my desk under a familiar pipe, and I glanced back up to find Holmes watching me.

"I should have checked that you had recovered everything," he told me quietly.

I nodded, accepting the apology. "Thank you. Where were they?"

"The novel was with the bookseller, the manuscript was with Mycroft, and Lestrade had your pipe in his office."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. He had also hidden several other things from both the sitting room and my bedroom with various people around the city—everyone from the new owner of my former practice to our most recent client. Apparently, that prank had gotten away from him.

"Maybe keep the pranks limited to us?" I suggested, smirking to show him I was no longer irritated.

He nodded. "Here."

He turned, scooping something from the chemistry table and tossing it to me, and copper flashed in the lamplight to land in my palm. A mite, a coin so small it was rarely of any use, stared back at me, and I looked up at Holmes in surprise. Was he saying what I thought he was saying?

He nodded. He was calling a truce on the prank war, letting me have the win. I grinned and pocketed the coin.

"Go wash that water out of your hair," I said with a mischievous smirk. "It had dye in it."

He barked a laugh, trying and failing to scowl at me as he walked into the washroom. If he hurried, maybe he would avoid having a carrot-colored patch of hair in the morning.

"Watson!"

Or maybe not. The shopkeeper had said it was quick acting dye.

I hope this was as fun to read as it was to write. Don't forget to review! :)