A Compromising Situation

"Congratulations, Watson," said Sherlock dryly, "Catching me with my pants down, to use the common phrase, is no mean feat, even for my own, tenderly nurtured protégé. If you think about it, old boy, there's an irony to be had there."

"Head down," chuckled Watson fondly, "and try to remember that you're in somewhat of a compromising position."

"OW!" said Sherlock, yanking a hand reflexively to the side of his own face, grasping Watson's wrist firmly, "You want to be prudent, John. These situations tends to reverse themselves…eventually."

"I'll try to be more careful, then," scoffed Watson, batting Sherlock's hand aside. It fell limply back to its owner's lap.

"Just…be gentle with me, Watson. It's been some time."

"That is painfully obvious," said Watson, returning to his ministrations, "perhaps more painful for some than others." He arched his eyebrow and received an appreciative grin from the detective.

After several minutes, Watson grumbled, "You're moving again, Holmes. How I can I be expected to accomplish this if you won't hold still?" He placed his hands on Sherlock's shoulders and pushed him firmly to the back of the chair he was sitting in.

"How can I be expected to hold still?" retorted Sherlock, nevertheless complying and letting his shoulders and back sag against the stiff wooden chair.

"When I'm me?"

"A fair question," conceded Watson.

"Anyway, my multitalented friend, if you recall I didn't exactly beg you to begin this ridiculous process in the first place."

"As if you would let anyone else," said Watson, frowning slightly, "It's been far to long since last time, Holmes. Even you must know it was beginning to effect your work. We can't have that, can we?"

"I am so very glad, Watson," said Sherlock with mock sincerity, "That I have someone like you to attend to my needs."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," said Watson in a similar tone, his neatly combed mustache barely disguising a small smile of amusement, "Now, let me get to it. The sooner I finish, the sooner you will be released."

"I relish the day," said Holmes, leaning back into his colleague's hands with a sigh of contentment.

A knock was soon heard at the door and the matronly caretaker poked her head tentatively into the room. "Would you gentlemen care for some…ah, I'm not interrupting am I?"

"Not at all, Mrs. Hudson, please come in," said Watson genially, waving her in, "We were just finishing up here."

"I see that," said Mrs. Hudson, raising her eyebrows, "How did you manage to convince him, doctor?"

"A clever combination of sedative and liquor," said Sherlock smoothly, "and after that, a simple measure rope finished the job." He indicated his legs, which were bound to the legs of his chair. Mrs. Hudson tutted and whisked off to the kitchen for the afternoon tea.

"All done," said Watson, putting down his scissors and picking up a gilded hand mirror in turn and holding it up to Sherlock, "Now isn't that better?"

Sherlock examined his reflection with an appraising air, "It's a little short, Watson, but it will grow."

"And when it does?" asked Watson, bending to untie his friend.

"I shall see a barber," answered Holmes.