NB: New chapter. I don't own 'em. Please please please review!!!!!


Three o'clock in the morning, and Watson was asleep in the restless manner of one who was unconsciously waiting for a knock on his door at any moment.

Quarter past three chimed. There was silence.

Half past. Mary murmured in her sleep. The silence went on.

Quarter to. Watson shifted restively. The doorstep remained empty.

However, the window-box did not.

CRASH.

Watson sat bolt upright. Mary shrieked and almost fell out of the bed.

"What was that?" she gasped, hanging onto the side table to prevent herself from actually falling to the floor, her hair tumbling into her eyes.

Watson levered himself out of the bed, groping for his sword-cane in the dark.

"Surely he wouldn't…" he murmured.

"Holmes?" Mary curled back up onto the bed. "Or someone else?" She was about to say someone worse but frankly, she thought that at least burglars would be a refreshing change.

"I will soon see," Watson answered grimly, motioned for her to stay there, and left as silently as possible.

The hallway was, for once, empty, the door resolutely closed and locked, but Watson was only halfway down the stairs when he heard noises in the front room. He tiptoed to the door and pressed his ear to it; there were no voices, but he could hear someone shuffling around inside. He was about to barge in, sword drawn, and then he heard a voice mutter a curse as the person who owned it banged into what sounded like the sofa…and he realised he knew that voice.

"Wonderful," he said aloud, straightened up and pushed the door wearily open.

The sight of Holmes, struggling up amongst the broken glass of the front window, which now had a Holmes-sized hole in it, greeted Watson.

He folded his arms, leant against the doorframe and quirked an eyebrow.

Holmes smiled sheepishly. "Good evening old boy."

Watson glared but no longer had the energy to start shouting and screaming, and merely sighed.

"Holmes…"

Holmes pointed an accusing finger at him through the gloom. "Ah now, Watson, before you protest, I didn't technically knock on your door, did I?"

"No, Holmes, you just smashed straight through my front window!"

"Ah." Holmes gave the window a doubtful look. "But…still not the door."

Watson resisted the urge to throw something heavy at Holmes, strong though the urge was becoming with every moment spent with him, and stepped into the room.

"Holmes, would you kindly tell me why you - "

Something about the size and shape of a cricket ball was flung through the Holmes hole and landed at Watson's feet, cutting off his complaint before it started getting overwrought, and, on the sight of it, Holmes let out a sharp yelp and threw himself at Watson, effectively tackling him into the hallway.

They landed in a tangle of limbs and curses (on Watson's part anyway) on the dusty hall floor, but Holmes was already disentangling himself immediately, and half fell, half stumbled towards the living room door, slamming it shut.

Watson sat up. Holmes was struggling out of his waistcoat and stuffing it in the gap under the door.

"Holmes," he said, and this time he was not so calm.

"Please, Watson, not now," Holmes interrupted brusquely. "I am - "

"HOLMES!" Watson barked. Holmes jumped. Watson crawled forward threateningly, his leg throbbing. "You have just smashed through my window. And now I am covered in dust having just been rugby tackled into my hall. I would like to know what. Is. Going. On."

"Ah." Holmes shifted away slightly from the fiery-eyed Watson. "Well, thing is, dear boy, I was being followed by a gang of rather disreputable chemists come criminals, who have succeeded in making a set of admittedly fascinating chemical bombs as you have just witnessed in the living room…simply wonderful, Watson, on impact they actually release a kind of gas that inhibits ones nerves - quite intriguing and, of course, quite dangerous…"

"Holmes. This does not explain why you smashed through my window…"

"Yes. Well. They were chasing me…and I was in the neighbourhood…"

"So you decided to just drop in?"

Holmes cringed and shrugged vaguely. "Um…well…"

"Simultaneously breaking my window and making my living room effectively uninhabitable…"

"Ah yes, but I didn't mean - "

"And now I suppose these criminals with their dangerous weapons are surrounding my house."

Holmes slumped. "You could say that," he muttered.

Watson levered himself to his feet with help from his retrieved cane, which had luckily rolled into the hallway, and glared down at the despondent Holmes from his elevated position.

"I," he said, "Am going to check that Mary is safe. You will stay here."

He had not gone two steps up the staircase before Holmes had sprung to his feet and was dashing down the hallway in the opposite direction to the front door and straight towards another window.

"Holmes don't you dare - " Watson started, but he had barely got the words out before Holmes had barrelled straight through the glass and out into the street outside with an audible crunch. Watson scrambled back down the stairs and towards the second broken window, but was only in time to see Holmes dashing as fast as he possibly could away from the house, a group of relatively nefarious criminals in hot pursuit.

Watson sighed. The clock struck the hour, and he glanced at it with a faint smile. It was four o'clock. Holmes had managed to effectively smash two windows, get Watson's living room gassed, easily put the whole house in danger and just as effortlessly brought it out of danger again…all in fifteen minutes.

That, Watson decided, was a new record.

He went back to bed.


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