A Welcoming Fireside after a Long Case

Based on the creations of ACD and Hades Lord of the Dead's December Calendar Challenge of Awesomeness:

From KnightFury: a welcoming fireside after a long case

"I say Watson, there really isn't anything quite like a welcoming fireside after a long case," Sherlock Holmes drawled as he lay on the sofa watching the fireplace. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"Holmes, have you seen my manuscript?" I asked him as I paced our untidy rooms and carefully searched the papers that seemed to be everyplace.

"Yes, and I have had the misfortune to have read it," he snorted as he lit a cigarette. "Honestly, my dear fellow, your fanciful exaggerations of our cases is bad enough but now you're writing total fiction!"

"Doyle is writing fiction," I asserted defensively. "Why can't I join in on the fun too?"

"If Doyle jumped off London Bridge would you?" my friend snorted. "You better stick to the facts my dear fellow. You're a doctor and a soldier and a good man to have in a fix, but you're hardly a walking dictionary or the Samuel Johnson of our time."

"Do you have something against my new book Holmes?"

"Aside of the fact that you're writing about an imaginary consulting detective by the name of Sherman Holm and his steamy love affair with a Miss Iris Sadler, I don't know why I should protest," Holmes sneered. "For God's sake Watson, you've made up an imaginary character based on me and made him a caricature of romantic nonsense and imaginary twaddle!"

"It's not twaddle, it's art!" I asserted. "My story is a work of fiction that's all. Everyone in it is fictitious. It has nothing whatsoever to do with you."

"He rooms with a physician named Jack Watkins for crying out loud!" Holmes protested. "He lives at 220 Cook Street! He has an overweight brother named Merton! I could go on!"

"And it sounds like you will," I muttered under my breath. "You're concerns are noted Holmes now where is it?"

"Where is what?"

"I may not be a walking dictionary but you know what I mean," I said while I vainly tried to control my temper. "Where is the manuscript I've been working on these past six months? What have you done with it?"

"What have I done with what?" he teased, all innocence.

"The manuscript," I clarified. "The large papery thing bound up with string. I want to know where it is."

"Ah, you want to know the location of the large papery thing bound up with string," my friend nodded in a mocking fashion. "I understand now. I understand completely."

"Yes and my patience is at an end," I declared. "Kindly tell me where the large papery thing bound up with string is before the booted bony thing at the end of my leg makes a quick, violent contact with the dangly collection of objects you keep in your trousers. For the last time Holmes, what did you do with my manuscript?"

"I threw it in the fire."

"IN THE WHAT?"

"The hot orangey thing in fireplace," my friend purred as he blew out a smoke ring. "When you said you were cold, you did say 'throw any old rubbish in there' didn't you?"

"Holmes! You have got to be the most! Ooh!"

"I say Watson, there really is nothing quite like a welcoming fireside after a long case," Sherlock Holmes drawled as he lay on the sofa watching the fireplace. "Wouldn't you agree?"

END