A/N: Is it just me or are people updating faster these days? Back in my day… I'm a dork! Big shout-out to Zan for the review - as I'm writing this, it's my only review. Kind of sad, really. I don't blame y'all, because I just read over chapter 6 and realized that I did a real poor editing job. Whoops. I'm excited for this next chapter, b/c it includes elements about which I NEVER get to write - usually b/c I never get this far. I know its accurate and that's the kind of satisfaction that money can't buy. Well, I should wrap this up, b/c knowing my style, the a/n is going to be longer than the actual story…

"So that's what a dead body looks like." Sabina squatted a mere inch away. "I've studied pictures, but never seen one in real life. Scratch that, I've never seen one three-dimensional." The cops at the scene sniggered at her naïveté.

Holmes rolled his eyes. Just last week every single one of them was puking in a bush, obscuring the possibility of finding a bit of evidence. "Yeah, but usually they have their heads." Holmes' gloved finger poked and prodded the corpse. "Body lies in the supine position, loss of blood makes signs of struggle inconclusive…which doesn't matter, because there was quite clearly foul play involved."

"Who you talking to there, buddy? Voices bothering you again?"

"Lesson one in crime scene investigation: bring a pocket recorder. That way, when I'm filling out my report, I'll catch everything…including my witty editorial." He gave a winning (read: cheesy) smile.

Sabina whipped out a mini notebook. "Why is it you seem so much happier at the site of a gruesome death?"

Holmes unceremoniously hefted the body over to examine the posterior. "I haven't changed, but my surroundings have. Comparatively, I'm giddy with delight, but at the disco, I'm not exactly dancing. Everything looks good next to a body with a severed head, which was, by the way, hacked off by a total amateur with a blunt-type object. Maybe a dull axe or a handsaw." Sabina just stared at him and he gestured at her notebook. "Why are you stopping? If you're going to write, then write! Wouldn't want to miss something - I might need your notes later."

Sabina scribbled furiously "I thought lesson one included a recorder?"

"What use is a chronicler if I can't use her chronicles?" When she looked offended, Holmes added, "Don't worry, I'll put both our names on the report."

"Good, I'll take what publicity I can. Paid by the word?"

"I knew this was a bad idea."

Holmes scowled at his surroundings, frightening a small child reading "Highlights". "Terribly sorry," though clearly he wasn't. "Carry on, then." The child hid behind the magazine and didn't dare look up again.

Piped-in "smooth jazz", elderly hacking a lung and the good doctor didn't understand why Holmes couldn't stand being in a waiting room. Watson made a good choice in being a doctor; he would have made a terrible detective. "Andrew Holmes?"

"Thank God," he breathed. Holmes followed the nurse to a more private setting. He figured that he wouldn't have to wait long - as soon as Watson sees "Holmes" on a chart, he'll have a fit of apoplexy and say, mid-stroke, "Send someone in!" One of Holmes' many addictions was bound to kill him, yet he was usually healthy. Sometimes healthier than Watson, which was always a good laugh. One would figure that if Holmes wanted a beer or a chat, he'd hit Watson up after his rotation, meaning that Holmes had, for the first time in his lucky existence, fallen ill.

"That's miles of bad road, buddy," Watson commented.

"Brilliant diagnosis! By the way, my thingy-bone hurts."

"Jeeze, someone missed his nap."

Holmes ran his fingers through his hair. "You're probably right. This case… I hate to admit it, but I'm stumped. No leads. I'm working around the clock and nothing for days!"

Watson, perched on a stool, nodded knowingly and rooted around in his lab coat. "I know exactly what you need." Watson pitched him a sample pack. "Take one at night and you won't feel a thing for a good eight hours. The next day, no heavy machinery, driving, blah-blah-blah." He leapt off the stool. "So, see you Thursday at the Watering Hole?"

Holmes furrowed his eyebrows and gave the "stink-eye". "You're up to something."

"I know paranoia is in your job description, but last I checked, I wasn't your murdering psychopath."

"Side-effects?"

"Erectile dysfunction and anal bleeding." After being fixed with the stare, "Headaches and nausea, but nothing much to write home about. Are we good now?"

Holmes smiled the "I-have-you-now-smile". "Your wife, Watson - how is the lovely lady?"

"She's fine since last I checked."

"Which was…?"

Watson looked defeated. "A week and a half ago."

"Trouble in paradise, then."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Neither do I - I'm terrible at relationships." Holmes made for the door. "See you Thursday and thanks for the drugs." An elderly woman on the opposite side of the door looked appalled, so Holmes let her know: "You are SO taking this out of context," and once he was down the hall, "Fricking hate hospitals."

A/N: That was fun - I love the whole crime scene business. Not terribly good w. the medical end, but I made sure to check that was I was saying actually made sense. I've kept to my promise of trying to lengthen chapters. Epiphany comes in the next chapter, so be prepared for actual mystery. Anyway, now is the time to review, so GET TO IT THEN!