Ok, I've officially joined the Oneshot Squad. Behold the fruits of my labor! (And please….do not spit on me. Constructive criticism does wonders, you know.)

"What is this trash, Watson?" Sherlock Holmes waved the recent edition of the Strand in front of me.

I regarded it thoughtfully. "It appears to be some form of a paper, Holmes."

Holmes affected to take no notice of my newest strain of 'pawky humor', as he termed it, and pointed inside the paper indignantly. I peered inside and saw our most recent adventure in print.

"The Adventure of the Three Garridebs." I read "Well, what of it?"

He practically foamed at the mouth. "This!"

I squinted down at the page and noted the underlined words. "It was worth a wound-it was worth many wounds-to know the depth of loyalty and love that lay behind that cold mask. The clear hard eyes were dimmed for a moment and the firm lips were shaking. For the one and only time I caught a glimpse of a great heart as well as a great brain. All my years of…." I trailed off and looked at Holmes, bewildered. "What's wrong with it?"

He almost looked rabid for a moment. "What's wrong with it?! What's wrong! Watson, practically almost everything is wrong! With a paragraph like that, your poor long suffering readers will forget the rest of the story and will indulge themselves only in emotions! There will be nothing instructive to be learned from our adventure then!"

I felt my anger rise to the surface like a striking snake. "Holmes, I was just trying to tell the world that you are not as cold as you appear! You do have a heart!"

"At the expense of my reputation?" He leapt from his seat and paced furiously in front of me "Watson, this is giving away my weakness! Criminals will know exactly where to attack me! My career will be in tatters!"

I rose, my face stony. "If our friendship means that little to you" My voice, despite my best efforts, shook a little, but maintained its frost "Then I will do well to leave the rest of the stories with you. Many thanks for allowing me to assist you in your adventures." With that I left the room, my mind still repelling from what I had heard.

I returned to our rooms the next morning, my mind set and made up. Let Holmes do his worst. I was ready.

As I entered our rooms, I found Sherlock Holmes at the table breakfasting on what appeared to be bacon and toast. A cup of coffee sat next to it. He looked up as I entered.

"Ah, Watson. Come in, you're just in time for breakfast."He pushed a plate towards me as I sat in front of him.

I eyed him a moment. He was contentedly chewing a piece of toast and staring dreamily into space. As usual, it was as if yesterday hadn't happened at all.

"Come, Watson, you look as if you haven't eaten in weeks. When you left yesterday, some very interesting telegrams came. You might want to glance through them up, if you need to add to our memoirs."

I pulled a letter from my pocket and handed it to Holmes, saying "This is from the editor of the Strand. You might want to read it."

Holmes raised an eyebrow at me as he took the letter from me. I got up and, crossing to the mantelpiece, proceeded to fill my pipe with tobacco as he unfolded the letter and began to read.

Seconds later, the yell, though expected, caused me to drop my pipe.

"Watson!"

I bent down and retrieved my pipe. "What is it?" I asked, calmly, continuing my task.



Sherlock Holmes was on his feet and staring at me, the letter in his grip, and looking more stunned then I had ever seen him.

"What is this?" His voice was hoarse and uncertain.

"A letter." I looked at him with amusement. "Surely you can deduce that, old fellow."

"No, not that!" He waved the letter frantically in front of my face. He jabbed his finger onto a line. "This!"

"My dear fellow" I said dryly "I assure you I have not lost my senses; I can still see that there is letter in front of me."

"What the hell do you mean by that you'll cease being my biographer?!"

I looked at him, eyes raised. "Just what I said, of course."

He looked at me. "You cannot mean it."

"I assure you I do." I lit my pipe. "This will save you a horde of complaints, won't it? And your reputation will be quite safe." I smiled brightly at him. "But don't worry about it. Have you finished reading the letter? You'll see what I mean, then."

I saw him turning his eyes on the letter with the attitude of a drowning man. A second later-

"Watson!" A positive yelp.

A moment later-

"Watson…." The ship was sinking.

One more moment and-

"Oh dear…" The ship had sunk. I smiled brightly.

"Yes, Holmes?"



He looked at me with a despairing eye. "Watson, you truly cannot mean all this."

"I do." I turned to face him, still smiling brightly. "Now, instead of an incompetent ass writing your stories and making a pretty hash of them, you will be able to write them yourself and then everyone is happy. The public will of course love to have a tale straight from the pen of the wonderful Sherlock Holmes." My grin was now threatening to split my face but it was worth it. Holmes's despair was now rather apparent.

"My dear fellow, you are not upset by this, are you?" I continued, though the bright happy voice was now beginning to stick in my throat. "You should have no problem. It is after all what you wanted, isn't it?"

Sherlock Holmes collapsed onto the chair and looked at me. After some time-

"I'm sorry."

I nearly had a cardiac arrest there and then. I put a steadying hand on the mantelpiece and looked at him. "I beg your pardon?"

Holmes's face was a bit flushed and he was looking in every direction but mine. When he spoke, his voice was strained.

"Watson, my dear fellow, I can only ask your forgiveness now." I'm quite sure I'm dead this time. Holmes, however, does not stop speaking. "All these years, you've put up with me and my behavior, and I suppose I really can't apologize for all of them now, but…" He looked so forlorn that I finally decided that this would do.

"Alright, Holmes, it fine." He looked at me with eyes full of hope.

"So you forgive me?"

I sighed. "Yes, I do. And I'll continue being you're biographer but-"I looked at him sternly as he opened his mouth, then quickly shut it again. He looked at me cautiously.

"But what?"



"You really have to write a story for me, you know."

"Watson!"

I laughed. "Alright, fine." I picked the letter off the table, and with a casual flick, sent it into the fire. Holmes watched it burn.

"Won't he say anything?" He looked hesitantly at me "That editor of yours?"

I picked up my hat, and hung it on the stand.

"No, why should he? He doesn't know anything about it."

Holmes blinked at me, then stiffened.

"You mean-"

I grinned at him. "I forge his handwriting rather well, don't you think?"

"Watson!!"

Oh well that was a bit hard, well worth it though. Blame it all on KCS; she's the one who started the craze, so of course I just had to write one. Oh and, before I forget I'll be disappearing for a few weeks around mid April. Gotto move halfway across India(sigh).