A/N: Please leave a note telling me what you thought, it would mean a great deal. Evening all!

Disclaimer: I do not own Holmes, Watson, or Mrs. Hudson. Most unfortunate.

One evening...



"....is anything the matter?"

"Such a conclusion is ridiculous, even for you. Why would anything be the matter? "

"Of all your traits, Holmes, I would rate your bravado very highly among those deserving of great respect. However, speaking as your good friend, it is my duty to inform you that now is not the right time to exercise it."

"Would you like a cigarette?"

"Don't change the subject. I am assuming something is not right with you and I am now being overly generous with the time allowed to explain yourself."

"Never assume, Watson. In order to come to a well-balanced and accurate conclusion..."


"Yes, Watson?"

"It is half past four in the morning. Yes, how about that? Give me your violin. Thank y...and the bow...thank you. These will stay with me tonight. Now, I suggest you replace the torture of your poor instrument with some sleep. Goodnight, old chap."

The following evening...

From the diary of John H. Watson

The day has been a long and difficult one. All my cases have been awkward to handle today, from those whom had ignored symptoms for so long they needed urgent medical attention way beyond what I could administer to those infuriating hypochondriacs I see on a regular basis who feel they need to rush to me every time they so much as sniff. My patience, the supply of which I usually have in abundance, slipped away from me like water in my hands within a couple of hours, and by the time I admitted my last client I was practically tearing my hair out.

Just now in the cab home I was slipping in and out of accidental sleep, and it is only because I know I will be restless if I do not do something to relax that I am writing this before retiring for an early night. I have no idea where Holmes has got to and, considering it is partly his doing I am in such a state perhaps it is a good job. In any case his violin is still locked in my room, so unless he is particularly noisy with his chemistry set this evening (which is very unlikely apart from the occasional small explosion) I should get a decent night's rest. Mrs Hudson has supplied me with a pot of tea and a slice of her own Victoria sponge, which has improved my mood considerably, and as my eyes are starting to close even as I write this, I feel now is as good a time as ever to sign off. Goodnight!

A letter from Mr S. Holmes of 221b Baker Street at Dr. J.H. Watson at his practice, delivered by Wiggins of the Baker Street Irregulars for a reward to the tune of one sovereign.

My dear Watson,

What say you to dinner at Simpson's tonight? My treat, it goes without saying.

I have to admit – and I know you aren't one for gossip, Watson, so I'll trust this message is confidential – I am most embarrassed by my selfish actions on Tuesday night. I observed upon arrival at Baker Street last night that your diary lay open at the last entry on your desk, an occurrence I have never encountered before, and (although I would never invade your privacy by reading it) I saw your handwriting, which I know to be neat and tidy, was very much the opposite. In addition, the pages were blotched with ink, as if the person writing was not taking enough care (or in your case was simply too tired) to correctly handle the pen. I had feverently hoped your rest was not too disturbed by my late night musical practices, but clearly my hopes have been in vain.

I shall meet you from your work at six.


Sherlock Holmes

P.S. Please may I have my violin back? I would pick the lock, but in truth, I fear your wrath.