A thankful nod to PGF for the inspiration for this little ficlet, due to her recent Of Trains and Timetables - go read it after you leave me a review, because it's a good deal better than this. :)
I heard the porter calling 'Euston Station' in the corridor and gave a long sigh of relief. This infernal case had been a thoroughly tiring business, made all the worse by the fact that I'd gone alone this time.
Watson had been unable to come – or rather I'd ordered him not to, since his recent illness had left him rather weak; and he needed rest, not melodrama as I knew this case would hold. He had thrown a rather childish fit when I'd told him he was not coming, but not even he can bend my will when it concerns his well-being.
I felt an unexpected grin crease my face as the train screechingly stopped, finding myself actually looking forward to returning to Baker Street and the familiar comforts of all it held.
Not that I would ever admit that fact for the world.
I stepped down, glancing round absently – only to find myself collared by a friendly hand.
"What the devil – you shouldn't be out!"
Watson snorted but grinned, leaning heavily on his walking-stick, and I slipped a hand under his elbow supportingly.
"What have you been doing whilst I've been gone, besides traipsing round the city when you should be in bed?"
He smirked complacently, gesturing to the waiting cab and the timetable in his pocket.
"Memorising the Bradshaw."