"What are you doing, Holmes?" Watson inquired, eying the telephone that was hanging very much off its hook while his friend scraped away on his violin.
Holmes looked up at Watson, then over at the telephone. "I'm talking to Lestrade, of course." He replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Watson, not convinced in the slightest, went for the telephone. "Lestrade doesn't talk on the telephone, Holmes." He reminded the other man. "And you two hardly 'talked' in person. You expect me to believe that he called you and you've been sitting here talking away while you're sprawled across the room and playing your violin?"
Holmes looked slightly offended. "We'd run out of things to talk about." He maintained.
"So you were playing for him?" Watson asked, barely able to hide a smile.
Holmes fidgeted uncomfortably, and Watson picked up the phone. "Don't hang it up!" Holmes hissed, darting out of his chair.
Watson decided to humor his friend and put the piece to his ear. He heard nothing on the other end except for static.
"Hello?" He said into the mouthpiece, rolling his eyes as he tried to determine an alternative reason Holmes would have had the telephone off its hook.
He started as someone spoke back. "John?" Beside him, Holmes was trying not to laugh.
"Hello, Lestrade." Watson said as he glared at Holmes. "How are you?"
"Well enough. Overworked." Lestrade admitted, and Watson understood. Gone were the days when Lestrade could have simply dropped by and visit when he was needed a break from his job. Watson was retired now, and had moved back in with Holmes out in the country.
Lestrade had called instead.
"Pretending to be busy?" He teased. "I was wondering why Holmes was playing for the telephone." That got a chuckle from Lestrade. "How is Elisabeth?" He asked as Holmes laid aside his violin and left the retired doctor in charge of the overworked Inspector.
"She is well. I think she misses having you over." Lestrade offered. "The grandchildren keep her pretty busy, though."
"Congratulations." Watson told him. "And how are things at the Yard?"
"Jones retired." Lestrade voice was troubled.
"What happened?" Watson asked.
"He was injured on a case. The doctor said there was nerve damage to his arm."
Watson sighed, but knew better than to try to offer any consolation. "I'll wager he got his man, though." He finally said, and was rewarded with a snort from the other man.
"He did." Lestrade confirmed. He fell silent then, and Watson couldn't really think of much else to say.
"How's Winland?" He managed, recalling the bright young Constable. "Hopkins promoted her yet?"
"He's gotten some opposition on the matter, but he's putting up quite a fight." Watson could hear the scowl in the Inspector's voice. A moment later he sighed. "I've probably let the rookie sit and worry long enough." He said. "It was good to talk with you again."
"Good to hear from you again." Watson agreed. "Take care, Lestrade."
"You too, John."
Watson hung up the telephone, and for a moment found himself missing the days when he would follow Holmes around London solving cases, occasionally going to the Yard for assistance or to lend it. He missed the excitement, and yes, even the danger. And honestly, he missed Lestrade and the other Yarders.
He shook himself from his thoughts as Holmes reentered the room and declared that they should go for a walk.
Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys do not belong to me.