"Watson!!Get down here!"

I was upstairs in my bedroom pulling out my file on Westron Wynde, our newest writer, and Holmes made me drop my papers. Hurriedly scooping them up, I bounded downstairs, fearful of what I was to find.

Holmes had been insulting those writers far too much. Had they sent a horde of spiders? Or maybe Basil? Or, God forbid, had they sent Basil's relatives too?

I wrenched the door open, and staggered to a halt.

"Holmes! What is-"

My words froze in my mouth as I took in the scene before me.

Sherlock Holmes stood pressed against the wall, brandishing a poker, his expression twisted between utter horror and incredulity.

In front of him, was a soft, white ball of fur. When I squinted, I saw that it was a rabbit.

"What the hell-!"

I'm not the type to stoop to using words of this kind but I think, considering the circumstances, I might be forgiven.

Holmes had looked around at my entry and now he stood looking at me pathetically. I was in no good shape myself.

"Watson."

"I know, Holmes."

"It's those blasted things again, Watson."

"Yes, I can see that, Holmes."

Both Holmes and I tensed as the rabbit inched a little toward us, and then without further ado, hopped straight into my arms.



I blinked down at it in surprise.

There was a soft scraping sound and I looked up to see Holmes put down his poker softly. He nodded at me and whispered softly, "Don't let it go, Watson. Whatever you do."

I nodded, and then felt my jaw drop in amazement as Holmes drew a small cage out of the corner of the room. Where on earth had he gotten that?

The little creature in my arms had looked around at the slight scrape and immediately I felt it stiffen. When Holmes drew out the cage, it leapt from my arms, and I dived to catch it.

Apparently Holmes had the same idea and the result was both of us colliding headlong, and the little bunny hopped nimbly from the mess. As we both looked around, we saw it had disappeared.

"Watson."

"I know, Holmes."

I climbed to my feet, feeling more than a little dejected. Holmes, on the other hand, was looking absolutely furious.

"Again! Again, Watson! Again we have let another of their infernal plot bunnies get out of our hands!"

I could only slump to the sofa in defeat, while Holmes paced the floor furiously. In a moment he took a calming breath and steadied himself.

"What is done is done, there is nothing we could have done to stop it. Now," he turned to me, "What have you found about," he paused considering the name, "Westron Wynde?"

I handed the papers to him. "She is a little different than the others, I have to admit." I watched him as he perused the papers, his lips pursing.

A few moments later,



"Drivel!"

I looked around and saw him staring at the paper with absolute incredulity.

"Which one?"

In answer he waved the paper in front of my face. As though, if the words were inches from my face, I would understand the situation better.

I gripped his wrist and concentrated on the words in front of me.

The Affair of the Lincolnshire Sausage

"Ah."

Holmes glared at me furiously. "Watson!"

"What?"

"Is that all you can say? 'Ah'?"

"What am I supposed to say?"

"You are supposed to be disgusted! Horrified! Scandalized, even, at what they're doing to my good name!"

"Why, what did she do?"

"Watson!" Holmes looked practically aghast. "I do not grow fat on eating sausages!"

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, and well you know it!"

"Maybe not from sausages, Holmes, but I clearly remember the amount of dessert you gorged that day, you- Oh, by the way, you've exhausted all the cushions."

The last remark was prompted by the fact that Holmes had whirled around looking for his favorite missile. I grinned at him.



"And all the books are on my side of the room." He was looking extremely chagrined.

"Anyway," I said, while he continued to glower at me, "leaving out that particular story, the rest of her writings seem fine to me. You appeared to have burned some of my most invaluable notes, by accident." I glanced at him; he was staring at the fire, apparently deep in thought, "And I irrationally forgive you as usual. There was that controversial matter of the baritsu, of course," Holmes turned a deeper shade of red, "but other than that everything else is fine, right?"

There was silence as Holmes considered this sentence. "Well," he said slowly, "There is still the matter of Piddles and Pokes…"

We both exploded into laughter.