A/N: Hey, here with a fic full of slashy drabbles! All Sherlock Holmes drabbles I write (under 1000 words-ish) that contain slash or pre-slash will go in here, and all friendship-only ones will go in another fic that will be posted either later today or possibly tomorrow. I told myself I was going to wait until I have more to post this, but it's my birthday and I feel like posting it. Ergo, I am posting it. XD I'm calling it a present to myself. *sings* Happy birthday to meeeee...

Ahem. Anyway, this drabble was supposed to be friendship-only, and then it ended up sounding a little like pre-slash. So you can read it whichever way you like, I suppose, but I presume if you're in here then you're okay with slash. If you're in here and not okay with slash...leave! For your own sake! :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Watson, Holmes, or Holmes' hands. Same goes for Gregson and Lestrade. I do own Jackson, I suppose, but who wants him anyway?

Rating: K+

Summary: Holmes was always there to catch him...

Watson only intends to pause briefly at the street-corner in order to better regain his footing before rushing off again, but he realizes once he's there that the blackmailer's not on his previous path. His brows draw together in confusion as he darts glances around; over his shoulder, behind him, at every angle, until finally Jackson springs from his concealed crouch and attempts to make away.

But Watson spots him and is off, steadily ignoring the growing resistance in his bad leg. He knows that he and Holmes—wherever Holmes is at the moment—must catch Jackson before the Inspector does, or they risk the loss of their client's payment. Watson's not sure which Inspector is on this case, Gregson or Lestrade, but he'll bet their client won't pay if Scotland Yard catches the blackmailer, no matter that it was Holmes who drove Jackson from where he hid out for days. Wishing desperately that the less competent inspector is on the case, Watson rounds a corner and finds Jackson standing there.

Jackson wastes only a few seconds in leaping towards Watson and delivering a lead-filled blow to his skull before he darts off again, in yet another direction. His jacket flags out behind him, and Watson sees the pale blue fabric disappear among the duller colors of the crowd.

Still valiantly holding on to attempt a chase, Watson clutches the side of his head and spins around, determined not to lose sight of Jackson. Instead, the view of the street tilts in a disconcerting way, and Watson doesn't realize that he's tipping dangerously too, nearing the pavement with alarming speed as the world continues to spin and twist before him.

A hand catches Watson by the elbow and jolts him upright. Falling back a step to recover his balance, Watson takes a second to recognize the chemical-stained hand and follows the trail of the arm up to Holmes' face.

It takes a moment, but Watson's vision rights itself around Holmes, and he can't help but think that it's fitting. So much revolves around Holmes already; the addition of Watson's sight just makes sense. He keeps his eyes fixated on the familiar face until he's positive everything looks as it should.

"Jackson?" he finally asks, tearing his eyes away from Holmes' well-loved features to scan the street in front of him.

"Has fled," Holmes informs him, raising a hand to Watson's head and frowning slightly. "You're alright, I hope? That blow appeared quite vicious from above."

Ah, that explains why he didn't see Holmes on the street. Likely he was hanging out of some window in a fashion so hazardous that Watson doesn't even want to imagine it. "I'm fine. Thank you for catching me, by the way—I'm certain I would have fallen, otherwise."

"As I'm certain a fall would have done no good for your head," Holmes responds with a tight smile. He still has a hold on Watson's elbow, and his hand is a warm dry comfort against his skin. "Even without it, I think a little rest back home would be of great benefit. We can catch Jackson in the evening, for Gregson is off chasing an alias, nothing more. Shall I call a cab?"

The sun is out and Holmes hasn't moved his hand, so Watson shakes his head. "Let's walk," he decides.

Though Holmes raises his eyebrows, he doesn't object. Watson, for his part, bends his arm so Holmes' hand end up tucked in the inside of his elbow, and arm-in-arm they begin the walk home.

Review if you liked! I'm also doing a doubleshot, so there's another chapter posted... ;) Check it out if you like!