A/N: Hello, I would like to say that this takes place after Holmes's retirement. Please enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anybody related to in any way Sherlock Holmes.

"Do you now see my reluctance for you to continue publishing your fictional stories, Watson?" Holmes hissed, as he hid his hair underneath his top hat.

Holmes had made one of his rare weekend visits from his bee farm in Sussex Downs. He had come to my surgery and I had invited him to see a play adaptation of one of my stories.

"Now," Holmes continued, "people are going to believe that I just wear a deerstalker all the time and have a fake English accent."

I donned my own hat and hailed a passing cab. "It wasn't that bad, Holmes. I hear that the actor had written this himself. Besides, I doubt you were the only one to pick up on his accent. It sounded good enough to me."

"Watson, I fear that you have gone deaf in your old age. The man is a poor playwright and won't rise high as one," Holmes responded, as he entered the rapidly becoming rare horse- drawn cab.

I just shook my head and followed Holmes. I knew I couldn't persuade him to change his mind. I hope that I could, at least, persuade him to let me publish another account.

The End

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this. Thanks for reading. :D