This is inspired by a couple of the scenes from the Granada series of Sherlock Holmes, and by a scene from my fan fiction 'A Singular Woman'.

Disclaimer - I do not own Holmes or Watson.

Miracle-Worker

As has happened many times when I have been on a case with my friend Mr Sherlock Holmes, I was awoken from sleep at around half-past two, by a sharp prodding in my ribs. As I was just coming back to the land of the living, I felt myself being hoisted to my feet, and a voice, that unmistakable voice of my friend shouting at me "Come, Watson. The chase begins!" Bleary-eyed and still a little confused as to where I was, I followed Holmes in a limping half-run across the lawn.

As I ran, I remembered what we were doing here. Holmes and I had come down to Southampton on a case regarding a young man who was said to have stolen away the unwitting daughter of a local merchant, who he had wanted to marry. For the past five hours, we had been waiting in the undergrowth outside of the gates of his house, Holmes being sure that this was the night that the man would fly with the girl to the continent. Holmes had come to see me at six o'clock that evening in my consulting rooms, excited and very obviously sleep and food deprived. I too, had been tired, having had a constant stream of patients from the very beginning of the day, but seeing the state Holmes was in had decided to go with him.

I had been not a little confused at the transportation that Holmes had secured for us at Southampton Station, but had decided not to press the matter, and 'follow the master'. We had made our way to Birkenridge House, the place of residence of the young man, and had set up watch.

When the young man's carriage emerged through the gates of his house, carrying not only he, but also a girl that I could see was either asleep or chloroformed, Holmes and I had 'run' across to our method of transportation. I cannot say that I was optimistic.

"Come, Watson!" Holmes said again "We must catch him!"

I looked at him sarcastically. "Yes Holmes."

Holmes jumped upon his bicycle, and pedalled off, followed quickly by myself, my poor leg smarting as we tried to keep up with the carriage.

"Come on, Watson!" Holmes yelled from ahead of us.

I shook my head, bent low over the handlebars and pedalled for all I was worth. The carriage pulled further and further away, until it was a dot at the top of the hill. Holmes, frustrated, let out a loud cry of anger, and stopped the bike. Turning to me, he yelled "If it were not for you, Watson…"

Rather annoyed, I stopped and shouted back "Well, it is not my fault, Holmes. How about I shoot you in the leg one day, and we will see how you feel about pedalling a blasted bicycle. You could have got better transport! Horses, perhaps? Even donkeys would have been better then these stupid things!"

"We needed to catch him…!"

"For heaven's sake, Holmes! I am a doctor, not a miracle-worker. I can do a lot of things, but I cannot make these bicycles fly!"