A/N: Playing catch-up again. What a hectic week it has been! I need to give some more thought to prompt nine, so I present to you the next response in all its tiredly-written glory, lol. Prompt at the end of this one.

Unexpected

Holmes and Watson are in Whitby, chasing a murderer from either side of the harbour, separated but closing in. The sky is a fathom of black broken by glinting stars, the moon declining to make an appearance to assist in this endeavour. The unfamiliar streets and haphazard alleyways are making pursuit difficult, but they are trusting to instincts.

Holmes is somewhere beneath the Abbey, can just make out the ripped tails of Russell's coat in front of him. The man is born and bred of this area, the advantage solely on his side. He throws a curse at Holmes over his shoulder and turns sharply, vanishes right there, but Holmes can hear the pound of footsteps, can see the faintest outline of a passageway.

Holmes takes the corner fast, scuffs cobbles in his wake.

Suddenly there is pain, the stars scattering abruptly as they abandon their inky pond, and then he knows no more.

/-/-/

He awakes feeling cold and sore, his head like a delicate egg shell that has been shattered and put back together the wrong way. Hands that are not his own are exploring his skull, prodding here and there, and at one tender spot the stars begin to disperse once again. He fights the nausea that wells up in his stomach and concentrates on the cold fingertips resting just behind his ear. Buildings fall into place around him, set the scene like props on a stage.

He refocuses, follows the hands to their owner, sees Watson smile with relief. It does not take long for Holmes's mind to form a semblance of events. But with this knowledge comes a wealth of pain.

He groans and attempts to rise, only to have Watson hold him back. He scowls at the doctor, his head pounding out a sickening echo of his heartbeat. It doesn't quite sound like it should, resembles an underwater tempo.

"Let me up," he tells Watson.

"I will," Watson says, then grows quiet as he continues his poking and prodding of Holmes's head. The fact that he endures it tells Holmes he has sustained a significant injury.

"Ah." He sucks in a sharp breath when Watson finds that tender place again. "When?"

Concern sparks in Watson's eyes. "Soon."

Holmes sighs and leans back, then remembers what he'd been doing prior to this moment. "Did Russell escape?"

"No." Watson gestures to where Russell is lying some feet away. He is unconscious, lying face-down, limbs flung outwards, dirty coattails still. Holmes surmises this has something to do with Watson, but he doesn't have the data to solidify it into fact. He hurts too much to ask.

Instead he says, "Tell no one about this, Watson."

Watson's mouth quirks. "Is this the price to be paid for being tall?"

"Your height is not much less than mine," Holmes points out.

"Yes, but I entered the opposite side of the alley. There is no archway there."

"Remind me never to return to this wretched place," Holmes says, pushing up onto his elbows. Watson lets him this time, helps him into a seated position. "It is bad enough chasing criminals through the intricate maze that is London."

"Your knowledge of London is much more extensive, Holmes. You cannot expect to know every place and path in England. Anyone would have done the same, especially on a night like this, where there is little in the way of light."

It is meant to comfort but Holmes's pride lingers against Watson's words, taunts him for his error. He shakes his head, regrets it immediately when the pull of blackness returns. He waits for it to recede before speaking.

"Nevertheless, the success tonight is yours." Holmes waves a hand to the prone form of Russell. "I cannot take any credit for this chase. No, Watson, do not try to justify the actions of a man so intent on his quarry that he fails to see what is directly before him. Felled by an immovable piece of architecture!" He scoffs, a burst of anger leaving him. "Who wishes to read of that, I ask you?"

End

Prompt 10: From YoughaltheJust – Being over six feet tall is sometimes inconvenient for Sherlock Holmes.

A/N II: In terms of height and visual between the two, I tend to go off the original illustrations, whereby Watson is drawn only slighter shorter than Holmes. :-)