"What are you doing to that rabbit?"

The question abruptly snapped me out of my train of thought, and I fought to smother a jump. I had been so caught up in the story that I had failed to hear his footsteps stop in the doorway behind me.

"What rabbit?"

He never saw my small gesture of dismissal, but he did note its effects. Surprise quickly changed to suspicion.

"Do you have a pet in here?"

"No," I answered honestly, setting my pen down to turn at my desk. The creatures hardly qualified as pets. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Perfectly fine." He moved away from the door, and I raised an eyebrow when he never stopped studying me on the way to his chair.

"What is it?"

"You cannot convince me that you did not have a small rabbit tied securely on your desktop," he replied. "Where did it go?"

I made no answer, glancing pointedly at my empty desk before pinning a genuinely worried gaze on him.

"What did it look like?"

He scowled at the insinuation. "I did not hallucinate it. Why did you have a European rabbit captive on your desk?"

European rabbit. Interesting. Most non-authors described them as horned hares.

"I did not." I paused, still watching him. "Are you sure you are feeling alright?"

His scowl became a growl, but when another attempt made me reach for my medical bag, he rather rudely denied an examination and dropped the topic.

I still set aside the editing Doyle required. My first published novel would also be my last if he discovered my secret, and I stayed downstairs instead of taking my work to my room, monitoring him for the head injury I otherwise would have expected.


I had first seen them as a child, after Harry made some small hypothetical argument related to one of our chapter books. Small and dark against the lighter stone, the limping rabbit had hopped slowly into the room before stopping to stare at me, and I had gaped in return. I had never seen an animal leave the fields surrounding our home, but Harry's friendship with the local librarian meant he had known what it was—and what it wanted. His rapid description had sent me on my first chase.

Hundreds had found me since, and I could not deny I enjoyed it. Everything from birth to release fascinated me, bringing me alive in a way second only to my viola. They had provided much needed distractions after long weeks of medical school, and they had given me a purpose in the aftermath of both Maiwand and, eventually, Holmes' apparent death. They had never left even when Mary died, patiently waiting though I took no notice of them for nearly a year.

I had to be careful who I let watch me, however. Some, like Harry, knew what they were and what they meant, but several authors had been sent to Bedlam when family members found them apparently conversing with the creatures—or to air. Not everyone could see them, after all, and those who did rarely got more than the barest glimpse before the animals disappeared. I was only half safe. Mrs. Hudson had first seen one years ago—had even helped a few that had wandered into her rooms in search of me—but Holmes would never believe that rabbits brought stories like Father Christmas brought gifts. I fought to hide their presence.

Frankly, only my friend's tendency to ignore anything illogical had kept me safe thus far. The creatures were far too mischievous.

"Get back here, you little—"

The animal ducked behind my lockbox, answering my frustrated lunge with a quiet raspberry, and I resisted the urge to growl. Such a sound would only make the thing harder to catch.

"Quit hiding under my bed. It's hardly fair that you can fit under there, you know."

A lagomorphic chuckle carried faintly, but the infuriating creature refused to come out. A glimpse of a tail prompted another lunge, and it dodged around the box, easily avoiding my hand. The small, fast ones posed the greatest challenge, but they also gave the best tales. I might even be able to publish this one.

If I could catch it, anyway.

"Ow! Don't bite me!"

The blasted thing chuckled again. An inability to break the skin did not make the bites any less painful, and I swallowed another irritated growl.

"Are you going to come out of there?"

Even the tail left my sight in an answer no less clear for its silence. I sighed and made to stand.

"Fine. No more carrots."

The quiet hops froze, then a beady eye peeked at me around the metal.

"I mean it," I answered the silent question. "Why would I bring you carrots if you will not let me catch you?"

I tried not to smile when a hungry grumble reached my ears. The creature took a step closer.

"You know I have plenty," I continued, "just as you know the deal. You help me in exchange for treats and a nest. Are you going to cooperate or not?"

It took another step closer, only to abruptly vanish when footsteps sounded on the stairs. Irritation shot through me. I had been chasing that thing for weeks, and that was the closest I had come to catching it. Holmes could not have returned at a worse time.

Holmes. A wave of fear drowned the irritation. I had not expected him home for hours, and he had obviously heard me. I needed to deflect him, needed to provide another reason I had been talking to an empty room. He would never understand my afternoon's work.

"Watson?" He tested the knob, then a heavy knock nearly shook my door.

My fallback plan would suffice, I decided. I had no wish to announce how many days I had truly gone without adequate sleep, but somniloquy was better than talking to air. I made no answer, using the noise of his pounding to cover quick movements onto my bed.

"Watson, are you alright?"

Of course I was, but I could not tell him what I had been doing any more than I could answer the door and pretend ignorance. I only hoped he delayed entering. Somniloquy was easier to feign when he found me atop the covers.

"Watson, answer me!"

I did not need to. He easily picked the lock, and the latch clicked just as I got comfortable. He froze two steps into the room, probably staring at me as the tension drained from his shoulders.

"Watson, are you awake?"

The question was rhetorical. No matter what I answered, he thought me asleep, but I still provided the expected—and honest—response.

"'Course 'm awake," I muttered, eyes closed though I faced away from the landing. "Wha'd'you want?"

His footsteps grew slowly—quietly—closer. "Are you ill?"

"No. Wh' w'ld I be?"

I nearly felt that keen gaze scan me from head to toe. "You never sleep at this time of day."

"Humph." I readjusted, throwing an arm out to lay half on my back, half on my side though I kept my face out of sight. "Wha'd'you want?"

"To know why you are talking," he answered, a thread of concern leaking into his words. "Have you not been sleeping?"

He obviously expected an answer—the true one, rather than a sleep-muddled nonsensical one. Apparently, what I could hide while awake I frequently blurted when asleep. I would have to find a way to work on that.

"Sleepin'…fine. 'Tective works too much, not me."

He barked a faint laugh. "I do not work too much."

"Didn' say you did," I disagreed, purposely slurring. "Said 'tective did. You the 'tective?"

The worry reappeared. "Do you not recognize me?"

I made no answer. Whether I could hide problems in my sleep or not, logic had no place in somniloquy, and I knew of nothing suitably ludicrous I could reply. He tried again when I rolled back to my side.

"Were you talking to someone earlier?"

"Mmm," I affirmed. "Blasted—carrots."

Carrots made even less sense than rabbits, and another laugh rewarded my creativity. His tone changed from serious questioning to hidden amusement.

"What are you doing with carrots?"

"Hid'ng them." That was true enough. I would have to rehide my bait carrots later to ensure that infuriating animal could not sneak a treat.

"Why?"

I hesitated briefly, searching for a non-answer. "Blue…horses want to steal them."

"Blue horses?" he repeated, obviously not expecting the color I had chosen at random. "What about the black ones?"

"Ate 'em."

"You ate the horses?"

"No. Carrots did."

I struggled to hide a grin at the visual, and he finally stopped next to my bed. "How did carrots eat a horse?"

"One…bite at a time."

Silence filled the room, then nearly inaudible footsteps moved to where he could see my face. "You still have not answered my question."

Which question? I thought back, trying to remember what I had left unanswered, but he continued before I could decide.

"Do you not recognize me?"

"Wh' w'ld I not?" I slurred, curling myself around the pillow as I started looking for a way out. His focus had shifted from amusing himself at my expense to finding the root of the apparent problem. I needed to "wake" myself soon.

"Which 'detective' did you reference?"

"Th' st'bborn one."

I had called both Holmes and Lestrade "stubborn" at different times. He searched for another way to phrase his question.

"Who works too much?"

"'Tective."

He nearly growled, and I smothered another grin. He despised circular conversations more than illogical ones.

"What is—"

A creaking floorboard cut off the rest of his question. He muttered a choice word when I took the opening with a jump.

"Watson?"

"Hmm?" I stirred, then slowly blinked him into focus. "What are you doing up here?"

"What were you dreaming?"

I considered, then shook my head as if I no longer remembered. "Why?"

"You were talking," he said with a twitched grin. I raised an eyebrow at the concern competing with amusement.

"Talking?" I repeated instead of calling him on it. "About what?"

"Carrots." The smile widened slightly. "Since when do carrots eat horses?"

I merely shrugged. He knew I could never explain my words. "When they are hungry, I suppose." I tried to leave it at that, but he watched as I pulled myself upright. "Stop staring at me, Holmes. You know I talk in my sleep occasionally."

"Only when you have gone without rest," he retorted. "The case did not last long enough to cause this."

I stretched and turned to stand. My friend could be annoyingly observant at times, but I would not admit that I had not slept well in nearly a fortnight—plenty long enough to cause an episode though this was not one.

"Was I trying to get up?" I asked. "Or reacting with something other than words?" He grudgingly shook his head. "Then I was sleep talking, not sleepwalking. Somniloquy requires nothing more than shallow sleep and a dream."

He stopped arguing, though I felt his gaze on me as I started putting away the papers I had spread over my desk. He never heard the mischievous chuckle echo beneath the bed.

I would try again tomorrow. He planned to spend the day at the docks, and I doubted he would finish early two days in a row. I had no wish to end up in Bedlam.


Hello, everyone! So glad to be back! I intend to resume my normal posting schedule, and I drafted several stories in the last couple of months, so I should be able to keep the pattern for a while :D Hope you enjoyed this first chapter!