AN: Apologies for the late update, but I was being attacked by a nasty bout of writer's block. I really hope its over now, I swear I get it 75% of the year! Anyway, onto the chappie. I don't own these characters...


2. A New Lodger

Watson didn't know why he did it. He never did, could never explain it, tried to once, to Mary, and trailed off, getting a sweet, knowing smile from her as he did so. But he still did it, even without knowing why, every week or so, turning up on the doorstep of 221B and feeling like he had never left.

He listened before he knocked, a habit that he had picked up from living there and hadn't quite managed to shake off - usually (especially at this time, just before dinner, when Holmes would get at his most restless) there was a little noise, crashes, banging, even the faint whine of the violin, but at the moment there was…nothing. Utter silence. Watson could even hear birds singing. He frowned.

He knocked on the door, half expecting Mrs Hudson to swing it open and cry in relief at Watson's appearance, as if he were a white knight ready to save her from the claws of Holmes's latest dragon, but instead, when she did open the door, she was…smiling.

"Er," said Watson.

"Doctor!" she said cheerfully. "Do come in!" Watson didn't think he had ever seen her this relaxed in his life.

"I…um," he replied intelligently, and followed her in.

The hallway was spotless…and also silent. Two things, Watson thought afterwards, that should have made him suspicious from the beginning. Instead, he naïvely handed his coat and hat to Mrs Hudson and said,

"Is Holmes out then?"

"Oh no," Mrs Hudson replied brightly, taking his items and hanging them on the hat stand. "He's having tea."

Watson stared. "But he's quiet. He's never quiet." He landed on another idea hopefully. "Maybe he's ill?"

"Right as rain," Mrs Hudson said. "His new roommate just seems to be doing him some good, that's all."

Watson dropped his cane.

"He…you…have a new lodger?"

Mrs Hudson beamed at the very mention of her new guest. "Ooh, he's a wonderful man, doctor. So handsome and kind and courteous - and generous, he gave me a new pinny when he saw mine was on it's way out, look!" And she twirled, giggling almost girlishly.

Watson obligingly looked without really looking. "Lovely," he said. "Look, are you sure - "

"Oh, and he's done ever such a good job with Mr. Holmes!" she twittered on. "I've never felt so much peace, and only a week he's been here too, but he's managed to calm Mr. Holmes down no end, I tell you, doctor, it's a relief."

"Mmm." Watson was too far gone to be properly listening, and let Mrs Hudson chirp on while he narrowed his eyes up at the silent staircase, but his attention was quickly caught when she said, "…and I tell my friends at the Wednesday tea-club, I say, there was never a better tenant than that Doctor Forthright - "

Watson's thoughts screeched to a halt. "Forthright?" he said. "Forthright is living here?"

Mrs Hudson nodded far too excitedly and blushed far too much at the sound of his name for Watson's liking.

"Well, Mr. Holmes has always been so taken with him, and then the doctor mentioned he was looking for a place to stay…isn't it a coincidence, that another doctor would take your place - oh, where are you going?"

But Watson was already storming up the stairs without looking back.

"Holmes," he said without preamble, and opened the door to Holmes's room.

And stared.

"Good God," he said.

The room. It was clean. It was tidy. Everything was neatly put away in its correct place - papers were in their files, files were stacked on shelves, books were arranged, the chemistry set was all in one place, carpets were washed, ornaments dusted, even the bed was made.

Holmes was sitting in the middle of all this orderliness, looking just as neat as the rest of it and grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

"Good evening, old boy," he said merrily. "Tea?" He waved a perfectly cleaned cup at him.

Watson glanced around him, wondering if perhaps he had taken a wrong turning somewhere and had walked into another room - or perhaps another universe.

"Holmes," he said with trepidation. "This place is spotless."

He tried to think of a time when the room had been at least half as tidy as this, and his memory failed him. Nothing short of a miracle could have achieved this.

"Oh yes," Holmes said, pouring tea. "Forthright and I did a little clearing up last week."

He stood up and handed the tea to Watson, smiling brightly. Watson stared at him - ignoring the tea.

"I could never persuade you to do this. How the hell did Forthright do it?"

Holmes shrugged.

"Maybe he was just more…persuasive - careful Watson, don't spill it!"

Watson recovered his tea cup with fumbling fingers, going a little red in the face.

"Persuasive? He - he - ?" It was unthinkable. "He - " he said again.

Holmes took a cheery gulp of his tea and smiled. "He agreed to stay permanently if we could clean up a little first."

Good God. Mrs Hudson had been right. He had been hoping, for no reason whatsoever, that she had somehow been wrong, that he had heard wrong, that this was not what it was…

"He's in my rooms?" he asked numbly.

Holmes flashed him a quick, sharp glance.

"Well now…they're not really your rooms anymore, are they? You moved onto the blissful life of the married man." He shrugged. "I needed help with the rent and Forthright was happy to oblige."

Watson discovered he was breathing rather heavily.

"He. Is in my rooms."

"Indeed." Holmes strode to the table and smilingly poured more tea. Watson wondered just how much trouble he would get into for going to a certain doctor's surgery and punching a certain doctor in the face. Quite a lot, probably. And then he wondered why he had even entertained the idea; he shouldn't mind if Holmes had found a new lodger, why should he? He knew that would be the case when he moved out. It was going to happen sometime, so why was he feeling this surge of…of…

Panic? No, not quite. Some familiar emotion. Alarm, almost. Or - perhaps -

He looked around the room again, his mind whirling. From the look of it, Mrs Hudson had been right about Forthright helping Holmes as well. He recalled the party vaguely. He had been good for Holmes - very good for him. Maybe…just possibly…perhaps Forthright was more good for Holmes than Watson had ever been. Maybe that was why they had squabbled so - maybe it was Watson's fault that Holmes had been so bad when they had lived together. Maybe it wasn't Holmes at all, but Watson's inability to…to understand him. After all, this Forthright was obviously good with people - he had charmed Mrs Hudson - good God, had Watson lost Nanny too…?

"Well," he heard himself say quietly. "I can see I'm not needed here."

And he put down his cup and left.

Holmes watched him leave Baker Street through the window, and a thoughtful look was upon his face.


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