"You know, Watson, I find it rather amusing..."

Doctor Watson looked up very slowly at Holmes, his grey trilby hat tipped slightly to one side.

"Would you care to elaborate?"

Holmes was drawing the bow of his violin over the taut strings of the instrument; the vibrations making his fingers tingle as the notes rang out.

"It strikes me that since your marriage, you have become uptight, overly-critical and extremely embittered." He lifted the bow from the F string with a flourish. "It amuses me..."

Watson folded his copy of The Times, laid it down on the table and then folded his arms to match. "Uptight, overly-critical and embittered? Holmes, I would very much appreciate an explanation..."

"You have always had a rather particular way of doing things," Holmes told him. "You yourself prefer to live in a clean and well-kept environment; you wear a jacket when you attend dinner and you are always deferential towards your wife and any other woman who may cross your path."

"And you take the fact that I like to live like an actual human being as a sign that I am becoming embittered?" Watson crossed one leg over the other and dropped his eyes once more to the newspaper. "Perhaps it is time to cut back on the tobacco, old chap..."

"Perhaps we can now add 'unusually sarcastic' to that list," Holmes said without looking up from his violin. "In the months following your marriage, your visits to Baker Street have become less and less frequent; to the point where you will only show your face to ask a favour or at the request of others."

"Aha." A small smile crept to Watson's lips. "It is as I suspected before- you are jealous of the attention and time I lavish on Mary and our daughters...?"

"That's quite absurd..."

"I was under the impression that we were work companions and friends; not a feuding married couple." Watson raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps I was wrong... Anyhow, I'm sorry if you feel I've been neglecting you of late, Holmes."

"It's not myself I am concerned for..."

"And they say a leopard never changes its spots!"

"On the contrary, Watson, my whole outlook of life has been altered through my disquiet for you."

"I am flattered."

"Indeed you should be." Holmes abandoned his violin on an end-table covered with cobwebs. "I have been observing you closely for some months at great personal effort, and my deductions have been somewhat disturbing."

"Would you see fit to share them?"

"Naturally." Holmes slid back in his armchair, folding one leg beneath himself and placing his hands in his lap; the fingers spread so that the tip of each finger was touching its opposing counterpart. "You used to have quite a gay swagger in the way you walked. But nowadays, it is as if the steel poker that is the oppression of marriage has been placed up your posterior, ensuring that you walk with a straight back and your head held high." Holmes lifted a finger and drew an invisible line in the air, indicating Watson and his attire. "Your visits to Baker Street were once an informal occasion whereby you would remove your jacket and join me in a glass of scotch. Now, you sit straight in your armchair with your jacket on and with no scotch in your hand..."

"Perhaps if you were to offer me some..."

"...You would decline," Holmes interrupted. "Because Mary does not like you drinking..."

Watson stepped around this remark. "Do you have any other comments?"

"To draw evidence from my earlier points, your wish to live and work in a clean and well-kept environment is now bordering on the obsessive." Holmes lit his pipe and took a long drag. "Even now as I smoke this pipe, your doctor's mind is plagued with thoughts of how smoking can damage a man's health..."

"Is it wrong that I like to be cautious?" Watson demanded. "I do not approve of smoking because I personally would like to live to see both of my daughters in a wedding dress."

"That would be a tight squeeze..."

"You know well what I mean, Holmes."

"Of course I do," Holmes said as he took another drag on the pipe; taking special care to release the plume of smoke in a position that would not carry it towards Watson. "As I was saying, you are strangely obsequious to women. You were even polite to Irene when you saw her here in my quarters..."

"Irene Adler is a woman just as any other," Watson said dismissively. "Just because she does not appreciate chivalry, there is no reason why she should be overlooked. And as for my cordiality towards women, it's called 'being respectful'...You should try it one day."

"I was respectful towards your wife..."

"Please, let's not go there."

"And I suppose congratulations are in order?"

"What?"

"The bottle of champagne," Holmes prompted. "The impending extension of the Watson family...?"

"Mary's pregnancy? Oh yes." Watson smiled. "I performed a preliminary examination just a few weeks ago and everything appears fine."

"And do you hope for a boy or a girl?"

"It doesn't matter, so long as he or she is healthy," Watson said thoughtfully. "Although, with two daughters, I suppose a son would be nice..."

"With three children, you will be busy."

"Absolutely," Watson said. "Luckily we have a nursery maid, but I intend to spend as much time with my children as is possible." He straightened his hat and turned over the page of the newspaper. "Fatherhood keeps me busy...There is no longer time for frivolous games and pastimes..."

"As I was saying," Holmes said triumphantly, "You are a changed man, Watson. Embittered in that you resent the amount of time you dedicate to your family, even though you are loath to admit it; and overly-critical in that very little of what I do is good enough for you anymore." Holmes looked up at his friend, unsure as to whether his eyes were displaying sympathy or subjugation. "The John Watson I used to know would have packed up this little conversation long ago with a suggestion that we go for a drink. What happened to that John Watson, Watson?"

"He got married."

"And that is my point exactly. Marriage is the root of all evil." Holmes re-lit his pipe with a nonchalant flick of a match. "God forbid I should ever partake in it..."

"Holmes, you are wearing a wedding ring."

"And already I feel its pull as if it were a gold shackle around my ankle."

"Are you sure that's the ring and not the pull of the woman who gave it to you?"

"What are you suggesting?"

"It doesn't matter." Watson shrugged. "I feel no shame of the change in me. People change, Holmes, as do priorities. But friends will always be friends, whereas marriage is a much less stable affair; am I correct?"

"You are."

"I am not going to apologise for my recent 'change of character'. I have a family now- a wife I am lucky to have and two daughters I would give my life to protect." He smiled sympathetically at Holmes. "I just hope that one day, you too will see fit to experience that kind of love as well. There's no shame in it, you know."

"Just as there's no shame in letting yourself go every once in a while..."

"That's your lookout." Watson gathered up his paper. "Personally, I would go for love over personal enjoyment; even if the two don't necessarily go hand-in-hand."

Holmes smiled and shook his head. "Oh, Watson," he said, "Love comes in many forms..."

"Boxing? Your love is for boxing?" Watson stared incredulously at Holmes as they stood in the doorway of a packed tavern; the air inside of which was thick with cigarette smoke.

"Not so much a 'love' as a 'personal enjoyment', as you put it." Holmes led the way over to the bar and Watson followed, close on his heels.

"Holmes, why are we here?" Watson stepped nervously over a drunkard who lay splayed on the floor, and wondered if he should be giving him medical attention.

"I spent my money for this month's rent on dinner and champagne for you and your wife." Holmes slapped a ten shilling note down on the bar, and two draughts of bitter materialised in front of him. "Mrs Hudson is like a vicious dog when it comes to rent...Once she has her teeth in you, it's likely you will have to break her jaw to get free again!" Holmes found a table for two in a dark corner and they both sat down. "Fighting hooligans in this pub is a good opportunity to earn some coin."

"How so?" Watson was intrigued.

"For every bout I win, I claim a handsome share of the money that was bet on my opponent claiming victory," Holmes explained.

"So is that the only reason you are here? To earn some money getting your head punched in by the local muscle?"

"Quite."

"And is my purpose here to stop you from swallowing your tongue when you are knocked out, or to collect your missing teeth from the boxing ring?"

"That brings me onto my second objective for this evening's merriment." Holmes took a large mouthful of bitter. "Your re-embodiment into your old self."

"My what?" By no means for the first time in his life, Watson was attending the notion that his friend had finally lost what was left of his mind.

"This, Watson, is the evening when you learn to let go of the stresses of marriage and indulge in a few old pleasures..." Holmes reached surreptitiously into the pocket of his trousers and drew out a piece of dog-eared paper. "I believe you are a man who enjoys laying a wager..?"

"I haven't gambled in years," Watson said, furrowing his brow. "And with children's school fees to pay in the near future, I am not sure now would be a good time to begin again."

"The fight system works on a 'last man standing' basis," Holmes said, ignoring Watson's remonstrations. "A man can leave the ring at any time, but in doing so he forfeits the match. The bouts will continue long into the night until there are no more contenders, in which case a winner will be declared outright."

Watson smiled. "You've done this before..."

"As have you." Holmes indicated the ballot paper in Watson's hand.

Watson still looked unsure. "...No, no, I had better not."

Holmes changed his tactics. "Watson, just think of the prize money that awaits you if you choose the winning competitor. You could buy yourself a new pocket watch to replace the one that has received so many scratches over the years."

"And how will I ensure that I choose the winning competitor?"

"Place all of your money on me."

Watson smiled, raising an eyebrow. "And I there was me thinking you had a system in place..."

"What kind of system were you expecting?"

"One whereby I could walk away with the winnings without having to place my money on you and your skills at boxing."

"You never doubted my fighting skills before..."

"It has been a while since I've seen them in action." Watson folded the betting slip and slid it across the table towards Holmes. "Look, Holmes, I appreciate the effort you've made to salvage whatever's left of 'my old self', but I am accompanying you to India in three days time, and I would like to spend some time with Mary, Tilly and Rose before that day comes."

"You'd go without your new pocket watch?"

"I'm afraid I will not give up my trusty pocket watch until it actually ceases to work." Watson pulled the battered time piece from his jacket and tapped it lovingly. "A few scratches make no difference to its ability to tell time."

"At least stay and finish your drink," Holmes wheedled. Watson sat back in his seat and took a mouthful of bitter.

"How much prize money are we talking about?" Watson asked, trying to appear indifferent.

"Multiple bags of gold on a good day." Holmes looked around the packed bar, searching for prospective challengers amongst the drunks and whores that lined the walls. "Tonight, I would estimate that the man who backed the champion would walk away with at least a hundred shillings."

Watson whistled, impressed. "As much as that?"

"Reconsidering your bet?"

"Perhaps." Watson sipped his beer. "But there can't possibly be that many contestants in a bar this small? It seems like quite a nice spot for a drink..."

Almost as soon as Watson had spoken and even as if the Gods had engineered it, two men fell into their line of sight. They were both tall and stocky with bulging muscles, pot-bellies and bald heads. One had a bushy beard that covered most of his face. Both were roaring drunk and agitated.

"Evening, Bill," said Holmes, nodding politely at the man with the beard.

"Evenin', Mr 'Olmes." Bill returned the nod, just as the other man slammed a flabby fist into his mouth. There was a gush of blood and Bill's head snapped backwards. One of his teeth –dislodged by the punch- landed in Watson's glass of beer.

"You were saying?" Holmes asked as Bill pitched backwards and slumped, unconscious and bleeding, over their table.

"Never mind," Watson muttered as he checked Bill's airway and then slid him off the table and onto the floor once satisfied that he was breathing.

"Ladies and gentlemen," boomed a loud voice from somewhere behind the bar. "The first fight of the evening will start in fifteen minutes. That's fifteen minutes, ladies and gentlemen; place your bets now!"

"Last chance for that pocket watch." Holmes drained the last of his beer and sighed appreciatively. "Are you in or are you out?"

Watson was looking thoughtfully at the ceiling. "It would be nice to buy Mary a little present...And perhaps I could get a doll each for Tilly and Rose..."

Holmes did not interrupt, but rather let his friend's mind do the work for him. Watson made up his mind.

"Alright, Holmes, I'm in."

"Good man! You can place your bet by the bar." Holmes removed his jacket and hung it over one arm.

"Oh, Holmes..?" Watson called out as Holmes was about to disappear into the crowd that was now gathering around the designated 'ring' that had been set aside for the boxing matches. "These men you'll be fighting...Are they all going to be as big as that man who knocked out Bill?"

"Most likely."

Watson laughed out loud. The beer had gone to his head slightly, and it was like there was a permanent buzz inside his mind. "Holmes, how on Earth do you intend to win tonight?"

Holmes smiled as he stepped into the ring. "That, my dear Watson, is elementary..."

"Well...That was an interesting evening." Watson leaned over Holmes with a bowl of disinfectant and a damp swab. He dabbed at one of the many cuts on his friend's face and neck, paying special attention to the enormous gash above his left eye.

"Interesting and profitable..." Holmes indicated the bag of money that sat on the table. "How much was in there?"

"One hundred and seventy shillings," said Mary. She smiled. "I counted it myself."

Watson, Mary and their daughters lived in an elegant three-storey townhouse in Cavendish Place. Watson kept his daytime medical practice on the ground floor while Mary and the girls occupied the top two floors with the cook and the nursery maid.

Holmes' final bout in the ring that evening had led to several nasty flesh-wounds, and since Watson did not trust Holmes to attend to them properly, he had insisted his friend accompany him home so he could see to them himself.

"I'm nearly done here," Watson said, staunching another wound and producing a needle and surgical thread. "Just let me stitch up that cut above your eye..."

"I'm surprised you approve of your husband gambling, Mary." Holmes raised the eyebrow that wasn't held in place by Watson as he looked across at the blonde woman that was sat on a chair in the surgery; one hand resting gently on a small baby bump.

"Approve? Of course I don't approve!" Mary tried to sound chiding, but there was a twinkle in her eye "You don't need to worry, Mr Holmes, John has promised to make it up to me, haven't you, darling?"

"Yes, dear, a new evening dress wasn't it?" Watson looked up from his stitching and gave Mary a kiss. "I'll be up in a minute. I love you."

"I love you too." Mary headed towards the door. "Goodnight, Mr Holmes."

"Pregnancy suits her well," Holmes commented as soon as Mary was out of earshot. "I see she is suffering from the usual child-bearing problems: her ankles are swollen and dear, dear, such terrible mood swings!"

"Mary's sudden cordiality towards you has nothing to do with her pregnancy. Or mood swings." Watson cut off the thread and told Holmes to inspect his handiwork.

"And she is really willing to let you come to India?"

"It will cost me one diamond necklace." Watson smiled, looking at a framed photograph of Mary, Tilly and Rose he had on his desk.

"I thought it was an evening dress?"

"That's for the gambling." Watson was tidying away his surgical supplies into miniature drawers that lined the walls of his surgery. "I think she is joking, but I'll get her the necklace anyway."

"And the dress?"

"After the baby is born." Watson smiled and shook Holmes by the hand. "Thank you, Holmes; both for the life-lesson and the money I made from it."

"Anytime, Watson, anytime." Holmes walked down the steps of Watson's house, wavering slightly from a combination of alcohol and concussion.

Watson watched him go, and then shut the door.

Later that night when he lay in bed next to Mary, one arm around her back and the other cradling his unborn child, Watson could not help but smile. Perhaps it was possible to have the best of both worlds...