I'm not sure how many people are in possession/have read the short story by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle called, "How Watson Learned the Trick," but I know that it's available in The Complete Sherlock Holmes Volume II that I bought at Barnes & Noble this year. I don't think this story is really known well, since it's not at all a mystery and more a little snippet by ACD, but I thought it would be fun to rewrite…so I did :), and also added a little extra to the ending. (Well, whaddya expect? It is me, after all!)

Needless to say, the storyline isn't mine, and some of the sentences are taken directly from the book…so I guess you could say it's a joint effort between me and dear Arthur ;).

Observations of a Sleep-deprived Doctor

John Watson had been watching his dear friend intently ever since they'd both taken their seats at the breakfast table. The look on his face was one Sherlock Holmes immediately recognized as one of a man deep in thought.

After a long moment of trying and failing to ignore the unnerving staring by reading the morning paper, Holmes could stand no more of the curiosity and broke the heavy silence.

"Well, Watson," he asked, "what are you thinking about?"

"About you, Holmes."

"Me? Whatever for?"

"I was just thinking that perhaps these tricks of yours are superficial after all, and that maybe not quite as wonderful as the public believes. In fact, I am sure that if my readers knew how easily obtained your skill is, they would lose interest in the stories altogether."

Holmes stifled a chuckle upon seeing that his friend was quite serious.

"I quite agree," he said, folding the newspaper back and placing it beside his plate on the table. "Actually, I have a recollection that I have myself made a similar remark more than once in these past years."

"Yes, I remember," stated Watson dryly. He seemed to be in an uncharacteristically cross and pessimistic mood this morning, for it was unlike him to make such a statement over Holmes' ability; his usual views on his friend's talents were always ones of awe and admiration, never before had he agreed with Holmes that his powers were commonplace and ordinary.

Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he'd had little sleep the night before, due to a certain amateur detective and a midnight stake-out in the East End that had taken a bit more energy than Holmes had planned for…

Knowing this lack of slumber, coupled with the new bruises evident on the doctor's cheekbone and scrapes on his knuckles, was most likely the fuel for his friend's comments, Holmes simply sat back in his chair, with his elbows propped on the back of it, and rested his left ankle over his right with a half-grin of amusement.

"Your methods," continued Watson severely, "are not so extraordinary as I have always thought, really."

Fighting back a snort of laughter, Holmes' grin grew wider. "I have no doubts that you are correct, my dear doctor."

"Neither do I."

Both were quiet for a moment, Watson glaring moodily at his untouched breakfast and Holmes stirring his coffee. And then an idea for a bit of fun hit the detective – it was unbelievably cruel a joke, but then again, Watson's remarks were practically begging for harsh teasing.

And after all, the doctor was the one who'd insisted on coming along the night before, even when Holmes had requested his staying at Baker Street; the detective had foreseen what affect the sleep deprivation would do to his friend, but Watson was adamant. It was his own fault, so why not have a little fun with it?

"Watson," said he presently, "perhaps you would yourself give an example of 'how easily obtained' my methods really are?"

Watson's eyes flickered up from his coffee, brightened with irritation at Holmes' obvious skepticism.

"With pleasure," he replied, replacing the cup onto the table. "From observing you now, I am able to say that you were greatly preoccupied when you got up this morning."

"Excellent!" gasped Holmes in mock wonder, though the doctor could not tell that it was false. "Please tell me, Watson, how you could possibly know that."

"Because you rarely leave your room in the morning, even to come to breakfast, without being fully dressed and ready. And yet, this morning you have neglected to shave first."

"Dear me! How very clever! I had no idea, Watson, that you were so apt a pupil."

"And I also deduced that you have a client named Barlow, and that you have not been successful so far in his case."

"Good heavens, how could you know that?"

"I saw the name outside of that envelope." He motioned toward Holmes' coat, where a white letter was sticking out of the pocket. "When you opened it a few minutes ago, you gave a groan and thrust it into your pocket with a frown on your face." His expression grew even darker. "And if the little 'adventure' last night was any example of the rest of the case, I know it must not be going very well at all."

Holmes chuckled a bit at Watson's obvious displeasure, but then urged him to continue; this was the most entertainment he'd had all week.

"Admirable! You are indeed very observant. Has your eagle eye detected anything more?"

"I fear, Holmes, that you have taken to financial speculation."

"How could you tell that, Watson?"

"You opened the paper just now, turned to the financial page, and gave a loud exclamation of interest."

"Well, that is so very clever of you, Watson! Anything more?"

"You are expecting some important visitor, because you have on your black coat instead of your dressing gown. Since I know you would not adorn so fashionable an attire for just my company, you obviously are awaiting the immediate arrival of someone business-related – your client or someone of that nature."

Holmes' eyes danced with the laughter he was holding in. "Is that all, my dear fellow?"

"I have no doubt that I could find other points if I pleased, but I shall only give these few, for the sake of proving to you that there are others who can be so clever as you are."

"And some not so clever, I'm afraid."

"What do you mean, Holmes?"

"Well, my dear fellow," he allowed his amusement to show now, "I fear your deductions have not been so happy as I should have wished."

"You mean I was mistaken."

"Just a little, my dear doctor, just a little," he choked out between chortles. "Let us take the points in their order: I did not shave because I have sent my razor to be sharpened. I put on my coat because I unfortunately have an early meeting with my dentist. His name is Barlow, and the letter was to confirm the terrible appointment. The listings of orchestras playing in London this weekend is just beside the financial page, and I was happy to see that one of my favorites is performing this weekend." He barked out laughter at the doctor's blank expression. "Oh, but do go on, my dear Watson! It is, as you said, a superficial trick, and I have no doubts that you will soon acquire it."

But when there was no verbal response, only the doctor's exasperated moan and his pressing his palms over his eyes, Holmes' childish giggling ceased. Had he gone too far this time? Was the good doctor really hurt or embarrassed over his jests? He hadn't meant any harm, honestly. Watson was indeed one of the smartest he'd ever met (faring much better than any blasted Yarder, certainly!), and his normally sharp mind was a bit dulled from the exertions of the previous few days – between the late hours of caring for victims of a sudden epidemic of a nasty virus and the excitement of Holmes' newest case, it was a wonder that he had not keeled over by now.

"Watson?" he asked, making his voice softer and leaning forward a bit. "I am sorry if I have offended you – I was only teasing, old man; don't take it to heart, please."

It was then that he noticed the man was quivering, his broad shoulders trembling with some strong emotion, his palms rubbing against his eyes. Surely not…!

But a moment later, Holmes' disbelieving panic was washed away and replaced with another shock.

Watson moved his hands away from his face, and Holmes saw that contagious grin had made a hysterical reappearance, that his previously somewhat pale face was flushed with color, and that his eyes were gleaming with that usual spark and also with hilarious tears. And as a hiccupping gasp of laughter erupted from his friend, Holmes could not help the wide grin that spread over his face.

And almost ten minutes later, when she entered the shared sitting room to gather the dishes, Mrs. Hudson found both her tenants doubled over the breakfast table, caught up in violent peals of hysterics, which only erupted again every time their glee-filled eyes met.

Without even uttering a word, Martha Hudson lifted the tray of mostly-uneaten breakfast and left the sitting room, wondering why on earth neither of them had been committed to an asylum yet.