Prompt: Protective shield, from Hades Lord of the Dead

In the years during which I shared rooms with Sherlock Holmes, I often felt superfluous, for all Holmes insisted that I was essential to his work as consulting detective. Had he been anyone else, I would have suspected him of protecting my pride by saying such, except Holmes never said anything he did not mean and emotional considerations did not enter into his mind. I was forced to conclude that I did have some value as assistant and biographer, for all that I often spent cases trailing behind him, feeling as if my only purpose was to tell him periodically how very wonderful his deductions were.

Perhaps that is why I took to taking case notes for him, something he was lax at himself. Interestingly, Holmes maintained that my presence was necessary for his work, and insisted that I served a unique function as a "conductor of light," one who stimulates genius in others. I myself saw no evidence of this from anyone else; certainly no doctor I had ever worked with was inspired to greater feats of medicine by my presence, but for whatever reason, Holmes certainly seemed to believe it. It is simply that I was required to do very little to act as Holmes's assistant most of the time.

However, there were occasions in which I was very glad indeed I was at Holmes's side.

"You drop it," the art thief, a suave, cultured fellow who had stolen nearly every priceless picture in Europe at least once, appeared behind us and turned his gun on my friend. I cursed our ill luck. It was some time after midnight, and we had been tasked with retrieving a number of stolen paintings which the fiend was known to be smuggling out of the country. We had not expected him to return in time to find us. I had been keeping a lookout on what I believed to be the only entrance, though evidently we had been mistaken about that. The man had come seemingly out of nowhere. "That painting, Mr. Holmes. Yes, I know who you are, and I would have thought you above such things as breaking and entering. It is rather sordid for the likes of you, is it not?" The art thief grinned and cocked the gun in preparation to fire.

Holmes is not defenseless; I knew him to be master of multiple forms of martial arts, a good hand at fighting with knives and swords, and not a bad shot with a gun, though none of this mattered while he was holding a painting and could not reach a weapon. I, however, reached into my pocket and took out my old service revolver. My use in investigating a crime might be negligible, but part of my job as assistant was clear to me and always had been. I stepped quickly in between Holmes and the art thief, my own gun raised.

"I believe it is you who should drop your weapon," I said calmly.

"Come now, Dr. Watson, are the heroics really necessary? You and I both know that if I wished to kill him, you would not be able to stop me."

"I would not be so sure about that," I said.

"You could not shoot me so quickly I would not also be able to get a shot off," he said. "Holmes the great detective would be dead whether you shoot me or not. Or you will be, if you do not move out of the way," the art thief said, baiting me.

In response, I moved so that Holmes was entirely behind me. Should the criminal take the shot, he would hit only me. "It is your move," I said. "I would not be so quick to assume I could not take my shot first."

"Watson, the Yard, they are coming at any moment," Holmes said in the barest whisper behind me. "We need only keep him here for a few more moments."

"You are quick to stand between us. Are you so eager to die in his service?" the art thief said in a taunting voice. "Is that why he keeps you around, to serve as his shield? We have been wondering."

"It is not where he keeps me, it is where I choose to be," I said. I stepped forward slightly, so that I could not possibly miss were I to shoot. "You would not care to test me on this matter, I assure you."

The art thief seemed surprised at the depth of my answer, then, to my surprise, lowered his gun. Perhaps he saw something in my expression that told him I was not bluffing. Nor was I. The moment I saw Holmes defenseless against his weapon I forgot all other considerations.

We heard a whistle blow and the sound of multiple booted Yarders running through the warehouse. I kept my gun trained on the fellow until Lestrade arrived to take him in handcuffs and Holmes relinquished his painting to the official force.

"I must say, I do not particularly care for being surprised without a weapon, though of course the painting was the main objective tonight," he said. "But that is why I have you with me, is it not, Watson?"

It was. I have always known that while Holmes did not truly need me to investigate crimes, or even to defend himself against the criminals he set himself against, there would be times that even his instincts and skill failed him, for one man cannot fight against the hordes of evildoers alone. In those instances, I knew well where my place was: between him and the scores of ne'er-do-wells and criminal minds he came across.

Perhaps the art thief was not so far off when he referred to me as Holmes's shield.