A new '5 times' fic! I haven't forgotten the last chapter of my previous '5 times' fic I promise, it is in the works. Meanwhile, do enjoy this!

1. As a disguise

Watson was momentarily thrown when an old and bleeding beggar limped through the door of his rooms in Baker Street at the untimely stroke of midnight, but when the beggar immediately snapped, "Don't just stand there, Watson, heal me like a good doctor should do!" and the light revealed the eyes to belong to a certain roommate of his, his worries dissipated.

He rolled his eyes and reached for his medical bag - in the five weeks he had lived with Holmes, he had had to use his medical expertise on him 21 times. He was considering making the man pay for the supply of bandages he used up.

"I hope that you at least got your man," he commented, pouring a bowl of water, then sitting the wincing Holmes down in his seat and removing the his ash grey wig to reveal Holmes's own unruly mop of black hair.

Holmes grinned brightly through his smeared make up. "Just."

"Hmm." Watson sat down opposite his patient and surveyed the damage. A large knock to the head, possible concussion then, a black eye, and a rather nasty gash on the right arm. He decided the arm needed the quickest attention and dipped a cloth into the water beside him, reaching for Holmes's arm as he did so.

He stopped. And then frowned.

"Holmes, are you wearing my shirt?"

The damned man was obviously too concussed to play the innocence game, because his eyes immediately glazed over with guilt and his murmur of "Who, me?" was loaded with sudden nervousness.

Watson glared venomously at his victim.

"Yes, you." He motioned to the dirtied cuffs. "Those are the cuffs of my new shirt - they have the symbol of the tailor on them - and the whole thing is far more baggy than your usual attire." He plucked at the torn front of the offending shirt.

Holmes flashed him a tentative smile.

"My, my, Watson, you are becoming a rather excellent logician already!"

Watson ignored the carefully placed compliment.

"This is my shirt. And it's new. And now look at it!"

Holmes glanced down at the sad remains of the shirt.

"I was rushed and it was the first at hand?" he ventured.

Watson hurled the wet cloth into Holmes's face.

"You can clean up your own mess. And don't steal my things again!"

Out of the rooms he stormed without a word more, banging the door as hard as possible on his way.

Holmes grinned to himself, still flushed with the previous thrill of the chase, and continued where Watson had left off, whistling as loudly as possible as he bathed his arm, just to be that more annoying.

He could foresee many more arguments of this ilk on the horizon. Especially when Watson found out what Holmes had done to his new waistcoat.


Reviews are desired, loved and stroked obsessively.