Disclaimer - I don't own any of this, I'm just playing with it all.

Summary - Back to the movie now. I will be including little "Deleted Scenes" as I see fit though they're not actual deleted scenes from the movie.

John was just finishing up with one of his regulars. The man was aging and therefore needed to see him on a weekly basis. "156/80. Very good."

"My nerves are the best they've been in years, thanks to you," His patient remarked. "Tell me something, your new premises," he made small talk. "When are you moving in?"

"I should be in within the week," He answered. He'd told all his patients when he would be moving what felt like a thousand times already. "Cavendish Place." He smiled, "And there'll be a woman's touch too."

"Well that's marvelous," The man put his jacket back on.

"Indeed," They were interrupted suddenly by the sound of gunshots from the next room.

"Good God!" His blood pressure had undoubtedly risen in those last few seconds. "That was gunfire."

"No," Watson immediately pacified. "No, no. Hammer and nail, wasn't it? My colleague's probably just putting up a painting. I'll - I'll go check."

As he was leaving to confront Sherlock, his patient stopped him, "You're colleague..."

"Yes?" He turned.

"He won't be moving with you, will he?" It was almost a plea.

Watson turned, "No he won't."

Out in the hallway, he came across Mrs. Hudson, their landlady. It seemed as though she had been bringing up the paper, though she seemed hesitant to actually enter the rooms. "I won't go in there by myself, not while he's got a gun in his hand."

"You don't have to go in there, at all," He soothed. "Give me the paper."

Mrs. Hudson looked at him gratefully then sighed, as if stressed, "What'll I do when you leave Doctor? He'll have the whole house down."

"He just needs another case," John explained. He wondered how this poor woman would manage, yet still had the utmost confidence in her. "That's all."

She looked hopeful at her next statement. "Couldn't you have a longer engagement?" Watson laughed sympathetically but was spared the need for a response when his patent burst out of the office.

"I smell gunpowder," He exclaimed. "It's not right, you know, not in a domestic environment." Another shot sounded, making the occupants of the hall duck, instinctually.

"Thank you, Captain Phillips," He turned to Mrs. Hudson, imploring her. "Perhaps a nice cup of tea." She understood him and took the Captains arm. "Same time next week."

"Come along, Captain," She led him away. "It's quieter downstairs."

John called out to the landlady before she was out of earshot, "Mrs. Hudson?" He asked quickly. "Bring something to cheer him up." Her response was an exasperated sigh.

Steeling himself, Watson prepared to enter the room. Sighing, he knocked, then opened the door. He wasn't able to open it entirely though, because Holmes was blocking it slightly with the leg of the chair he lounged in. In his hand was a gun with a peculiarly long muzzle. "Permission to enter the armory?" He asked sarcastically.

"Granted," Holmes replied with a final shot of the gun. John observed the initials V.R. had been made from the bullet holes but didn't spare a thought to the old case they'd taken, which no doubt Holmes was reminiscing, judging by the wall. "Watson," He called to his friend. "I am in the process of inventing a device that suppresses the sound of a gunshot. Though I don't know if I can be credited in inventing it as it will already have been invented in about 30 years time."

At that moment, John flung open the curtains, causing sunlight to stream into the once pitch-dark room and dragging a scream from Sherlock at the shock to his sensitive eyes. "It's not working," Watson didn't apologize. "Can I see that?" And he took the proffered gun from Holmes's outstretched hand.

Setting the gun down on the desk, he attempted to tidy things up, giving up when he noticed a pile of letters. He grabbed said letters and went to take the kettle off the fire as it's whistling was starting to get unbearable. For good measure he put the fire out as well. Sniffing the contents of the goblet before dousing the fire, of course, in the possibility that it were alcohol. He rarely found Holmes drinking, as he preferred to steal drugs from him or use his own, but better safe than sorry.

"You know, it's been three months since your last case."

"Yes, yes," Then he noticed Watson headed for the other curtains. "Gently, gently, Watson," His pleas grew more desperate as he saw the attitude of the man's stride. "Be gentle with me -" He screamed out and fell over as even more light entered the room.

John glanced at him, sparing nothing for his melodramatics, and began to skim the letters in his hand. "Don't you think it's time you found another one?" He didn't know if he just meant a case, or if the question went deeper.

Holmes was crawling along the floor, seeking a place to recover from the shock to his system, once his mind got going, his Time Lord body would catch up and throw the chemicals. "I agree. My mind rebels at stagnation. Give me problems. Give me work." He had made it to where Watson was standing, "The sooner the better."

Watson handed him the paper as he sat in the chair that had been Holmes's destination, unfazed when the man simply rested on his leg rather than go to the other chair. "Let's see, then. There's a letter here from Mrs. Ramsey of Queen's Park. Her Husband's disappeared."

Without halting his reading of the paper, Sherlock answered, "He's in Belgium with the scullery maid." Catching sight of the date on the paper, he began to read the paper more intently. "Is it November?" He looked up, shock and sadness and a multitude of other things written on his face.

"Yes Holmes," John said in a softened tone, "All right. Lady Radford reports..." He read through the woman's drivel, "Oh," He found the point of the letter. "Her emerald bracelet has disappeared."

"Insurance swindle," Sherlock seemed to have pulled himself together, again reading the paper as he answered. "Lord Radford likes fast women and slow ponies."

"Oh," reaching a concerning point of the front article, he couldn't look at the man whom he rested on. "I see you're the attending physician at Blackwood's hanging."

"Yes," His tone went soft again. "It was our last case together and I wanted to see it through to the end." Holmes looked pained at those words, looking sadly again into the distance. John noted that he hardly ever showed emotion besides boredom and amusement. So, seeing his friend so hurt pulled at his heart. He cleared his throat at the knocking on the door and Holmes stopped resting on Watson's leg lest Mrs. Hudson infer things that his friend might find bothersome. Especially as he was an engaged man.

He interrupted John, who had continued reading the letters, "There's only one case that intrigues me at present." His tone was sarcastic and his eyes piercing. He glared at the woman who he felt was helping push Watson away. "The curious case of Mrs. Hudson, the absentee landlady." The woman in question stopped in her tracks and sighed over the tea tray in her hands, waiting for the man to relax. "I've been studying her comings and goings. They appear most sinister."

The moment Holmes's mouth had shut she spoke, "Tea, Mr. Holmes?" All politeness and grace, walking once again to the men, who spend too much time together, in her opinion. She had begun to think they enjoyed each other's company too much until Dr. Watson miraculously announced his engagement.

"Is it poisoned, nanny?" He spat the epithet. The woman had started treating him like a child since Watson began to move out, and he disliked it greatly. So, if she was going to act as his nanny, he'd call her such.

"There's enough of that in you already," Implying not only that he was a harsh man but also that she knew about how often he used his drugs and chemicals for "recreation". She handed the tea tray to the good Doctor, who had risen to take it, and picked up the old one, causing a shout from Holmes.

"Don't touch!" He said. "Everything is in it's proper place, as per usual, nanny."

She spared him but a glance and simply walked away. Noticing Gladstone on the floor she shot a parting statement, "He's killed the dog," Very matter-of-fact. "Again."

Alarmed that he hadn't noticed, John scurried over to the bull dog, "What have you done to Gladstone now?" He checked for breathing and a heartbeat.

"I," Holmes said, pride in his tone as he stood. "Was simply testing a new anesthetic." Then to reassure his friend he added, "He doesn't mind."

After assuring himself that his four legged companion was in fact, not dead, he stood to confront The Detective. "Holmes," His face said 'I don't care what you say, you can NOT talk to animals' and his tone was as if speaking to a stubborn child. "As your Doctor -"

"He'll be right as a trivet in no time," Sherlock interrupted.

"As your friend," He raised his voice to speak over the man. He paused, making sure the he got his meaning. He continued only when Holmes sat down. "You've been in this room for two weeks. I insist, you have to get out."

"There's nothing of interest for me out there," He crossed his legs, getting comfortable. "On Earth," He looked at John. "At all."

John looked away, trying to not become angry at one of the two most important people in his life. Then an idea struck him, "So you're free this evening?"

"Absolutely," he would take any time he could get with the man before that woman took him away.

Perfect, "Dinner?"

Yes, "Wonderful."

"The Royal?" Mary and he had a table booked.

"My favourite," Not true but he didn't mind.

He paused, briefly, "Mary's coming." And turned to walk away. He hoped to escape before the man could protest.

Holmes was horrified, he did not want to meet any such woman who could corrupt his Watson into leaving him. "Not available."

"You're meeting her, Holmes!" He stopped to say, determined for the man to realize it.

He turned away to play with something on the desk, until a thought caught his attention, "Have you proposed yet?" There was a challenge written on his face.

He waited a moment before answering, judging what the man's reaction would be. "No," He glanced away before making eye contact again. "I haven't found the right ring." Sherlock would count that as a victory.

"Well then," He stated, smugly. "It's not official."

"It's happening," he willed the man to understand, to read his mind or feelings or whatever it is he says that he can do, as long as he accepted it. "Weather you like it or not," Giving him no chance to respond he continued out of the room, "8:30, The Royal. Wear a Jacket!"

He stubbornly replied with a popular insult, a century ahead of it's time, "You wear a jacket!"

...

He dressed carefully for the night, actually having washed his hair, though he didn't shave. He decided on not one, but two pieces of his outfit that he'd gained from John's wardrobe. There was no doubt that that woman would be wearing some flowery perfume, and he'd rather smell Watson on his person than her. His cravat and his undershirt were both John's and he completed the outfit with the hat he'd acquired during their last case. Checking the mirror, he steeled himself to be civil, determined to make an effort for Watson. Even though really he didn't want to.

A/N - Sooooooo, I've watched this movie a total of three times now and the BBC Sherlock twice. I'm trying to make it so that you can tell what their thoughts are in between the dialogue (I'd do it in Italics but I don't know the typing code for it to work on this site) At this point, I've got John knowing that Sherlock BELIEVE's himself to be a Time Lord but I have John disbelieving him.