Two Things
A/N: I was watching Iron Man the other day, and the scene where he is getting off the plane and he tells Pepper Potts he wants two things, a cheeseburger and a press conference, inspired this. R&R!
Lestrade could not understand that after spending two months held hostage in a warehouse, there were only two things I wanted. And both of them were, hopefully, waiting for me at Baker Street. His intentions were admirable, of course. Questions of "Are you alright? Are you hungry? Tired?" fell on deaf ears. The train ride into London was possibly the longest of my life. I could not bear Lestrade's questions, and I feigned sleep to escape them. Finally, I found myself once more in London, and the acrid, fog-filled air had never smelled sweeter.
Lestrade was attempting to goad me into accompanying him to Scotland Yard to brief them on any evidence I might have gathered during my incarceration. I politely declined. When he became insistent, though, I told him in no unsure terms:
"Inspector Lestrade, after spending two months in a dirty, dingy, lonely warehouse, there are only two things I want: to see Watson and to smoke a pipe." Lestrade raised an eyebrow, but made no more objections. As I had no pocket change, Lestrade generously paid for a cab and I started on my way back to Baker Street.
I had lost my keys as well as my pipe two months ago and I had to ring for Mrs. Hudson and wait for her arrival. Of course, she could hardly have failed to notice the extended absence of one of her more eccentric tenants for two months, and I was subject briefly to her motherly ministrations.
I had offers of tea and biscuits pressed upon me, offers of some dinner being reheated, but I declined all, and told her exactly what I had told Lestrade:
"Mrs. Hudson, there are only two things which I want right now, and they are both upstairs waiting for me in my rooms." The landlady smile knowingly, and I eagerly ascended the stairs. At the top I questioned Mrs. Hudson's receding back, suddenly filled with doubt:
"Is Dr. Watson in?"
"Yes, he's just recently returned," she answered. A smile touched the corners of my mouth.
"Thank you." I opened the door of the flat with no hesitation and stepped in. Nothing had changed during my sojourn. Everything was untouched and in its proper place. God, it was good to be back. I went to my desk, took my pipe from a drawer, and filled it with my best tobacco. Then settling in my customary armchair I lit it, enjoying for the first time in two months the pleasure of a smoke.
From the direction of Watson's bedroom, I suddenly heard a shout.
"Mrs. Hudson? Is that you?" I smiled to myself. He must have heard the door. 'Twas true, for a moment later he walked right past me and out into the sitting room to the door, still clutching a yellow-backed novel he must have been in the midst of reading. He checked the door and was about to turn back to his room when he noticed my hat and stick were once more in their customary spots.
He turned slowly round, and when his eyes beheld me sitting serenely in my chair as if I had never been gone his novel slid from his grasp and he gaped with open-mouthed astonishment at me. I have to admit, my sense of drama was thoroughly satisfied.
"Holmes!" He exclaimed, "You're back!"
"Yes, my dear Watson. And here to stay," I answered. I now had both of the things I had so craved during my imprisonment: my pipe and my Watson. I was truly home.