Watson rose hastily, gaze sweeping the mantelpiece. There, behind the jack-knife, a faint glow, almost like that of a firefly... Drawing closer, his eyes widened – that was no mere insect lying on Holmes's mail! Unless he were dreaming, what he beheld was an actual fairy... and dreadfully ill, if her fading light was any indication.
Hesitant to manhandle the fragile creature, Watson carefully removed the topmost envelope, lowering it to the hearthrug. Through Holmes's magnifying glass, he could see that the poor thing was barely breathing. What could he do? No use asking himself what Holmes would do, he'd already made his position... clear...
Combining his own instincts with Holmes's training, Watson murmured, "I believe in fairies." The fairy's wings fluttered, hands seeming to clasp feebly, then again, eyes pleading. Praying he'd understood, Watson began clapping...
Returning a minute later, Holmes gaped at the impossible sight of Watson suspended in mid-air, beaming... and what the devil was that... thing circling his head?!
"I think we're needed, old man." Watson floated lower and grasped Holmes's shoulder as the... fairy? threw a cloud of shimmering dust in his face, making him sneeze. "Coming?"
Despite any misgivings, Holmes's heart leapt at the prospect of another adventure with his dearest friend; next moment, he also found himself rising off the floor, the open window beckoning...