Just a bit of fun whilst I wrestle with something more serious. Clearly, I dont own these characters. I hope you enjoy...

The Amorous Amnesiac

Sherlock Holmes stood in the centre of the Punch Bowl, skin glistening with sweat and breathing heavily. His dazed opponent lay in a tangled heap at his feet, and with the dust only just beginning to settle the raucous crowd exploded about him with delight.

This was the second man to be felled by his fists within the space of ten minutes and after a period of absence from the ring he was pleased to discover he was still on top form.

But something was certainly amiss. Usually such moments of victory induced a pleasant feeling of elation, however on this occasion the effect had been most disappointing. So far tonight it had all seemed much too easy. Despite a second victory he could barely be bothered to raise his arms to the crowd.

Perhaps the felling of a third contender would induce the desired effects. He rather hoped so. At least the process was a distraction from earlier events…

-oooOooo-

The lounge at Baker Street had been bathed in the afternoon sun, its low light filtering gently through the windows and filling the room in a golden glow. Watson sat opposite Holmes with a nervous expression upon his face. He had finally found time in his hectic schedule to visit Holmes and make his request. Unfortunately the conversation had not been going as he had hoped.

'Please Holmes' he begged.

'No. Absolutely not.'

'Holmes….'

'I am not going to give you away Watson'

The Dr let out an exasperated sigh, he was starting to suspect the Holmes was intentionally making this difficult and consequently his patience was wearing thin.

'Holmes. That is not how it works. You would not be giving me away. The bride's father gives the bride away. No one gives the groom away. Besides, I am my own man. I give myself to whom I please.'

'Indeed' Holmes sniffed.

The detective looked away before the blues could command the browns. He would never let Watson know the power they had over him. To do so would be foolish, and Sherlock Holmes was not a fool.

'You have other friends…' he puffed around his pipe 'ask one of them.'

'Now you are being childish'

'I am not being childish'

'Yes you are'

'Am not'

'Holmes!' The Drs voice was so sharp the detective almost fell out of his chair. 'Please, for heavens sake would you stop dragging this out! There is no one else who fits the bill. You are my best friend. You are the only person I want to be stood by my side. If you refuse I will have to stand up there on my own. Is that what you want?'

Holmes considered the prospect for a moment. Watson stood alone to face such an…unfortunate circumstance. Finally he replied. 'No. That is not what I want.'

'Then say yes' Watson could see the detective weaken. 'I promise you Holmes. No toasts, no speeches. Just stand by my side in the church. Please. It would mean a great deal to me. Is it really too much to ask?'

Holmes waited a moment before he replied. He knew his answer and yet he was reluctant to give it. Finally he conceded. 'I still have reservations about this whole business'

'Is that a yes?' A smile had crept beneath the well-groomed moustache.

'One one condition' Holmes said as he looked up.

'Anything Old Chap. Name it.'

'Do not make me sing.'

So Watson promised not to make the detective sing, and Holmes found himself accepting. He would be the Best Man. In truth it would have torn him in two if Watson had asked anyone else. But he would never let Watson know that. Some things Watson could never know. Some things must be kept secret.

-oooOooo-

Opponent number three was a more deserving candidate. As he approached the ring the noise from the crowd lowered to an uncomfortable rumble. It was evident that several punters were having second thoughts. Undaunted, Holmes squared his shoulders, puffed out his chest in defiance and looked up at the hulk who towered before him.

At a rough estimate; six foot ten inches.

Size was of no importance however. Speed and agility were far more valuable. They were his weapons, and he relished the chance to test them to their limits. Adrenaline began to pulse through his veins. Marvellous. This was exactly what he had been searching for.

Of course, if Watson had been present he would have taken a dim view. But Watson was not there. Since his involvement with Mary he had become rather dull. The sport he had once attended and quite willingly (and reliably) placed bets upon he now declared a health hazard and refused to attend. It was disappointing, as in truth it was not the same without him. Nothing was quite the same without the good Dr.

The bell chimed, the crowd roared, and Holmes was drawn from his thoughts to raise his fists in a defensive stance. He ducked the first swing like a nimble athlete and keeping light upon his feet he dodged to and frow causing the features of the hulk before him to furrow with agitation. Huge fists swung through the air repeatedly, but each time they missed their target. Slowly the crowd began to regain faith, and the cheering noise rose into the rafters.

As Holmes took a moment to contemplate his own brilliance a large fist swung squarely at his jaw. He ducked to avoid it, planting a swift jab into the belly of his opponent as he did so, before turning like a spinning top and darting under the outstretched arm. Dam he was good, he smiled to himself. If only Watson was there to witness it.

As he spun around his sharp eyes scanned the crowd. It comprised the usual assortment of drunks and whores and petty criminals, all swigging ale and fighting against themselves for the best view. They were a rum bunch, drawn from the gutters of society, all jeering and laughing and baying for blood. Suddenly he spotted something out of place, which distracted him somewhat from the task at hand.

Amidst the chaos was a tanned and handsome face. It bore a fine moustache, an angry frown and a pair of stunningly blue eyes.

Stunning being the operative word.

-oooOooo-

"Holmes? Can you hear me?" Watson asked as he crouched beside the motionless form of his friend, who had been lifted from the ring and unceremoniously dumped upon a bench in a corner of the bar. Watson let his fingers brush through dark strands of hair, careful to avoid the deep cut upon his temple. "Come on Old Chap" He coaxed anxiously "Stop hiding."

Their conversation that afternoon had left Watson with a lingering sense of unease. On reflection he realised his visit to Baker Street had been rather abrupt, and he had left all too swiftly as soon as he had accomplished his primary objective. He had spent little time with Holmes recently, the preparations for the wedding and his new life with Mary, together with the increased number of patients attending his now flourishing practice had left little room for anything else. As he had sat at the dinner table that evening, listening to his fiancé enthuse over various arduous ceremonial details (for which he could summon up no enthusiasm) he realised with a pang of guilt that he had not even asked Holmes a single question about himself or his current case. No wonder he had seemed a little put out.

Keen to make amends Watson had returned to Baker Street that evening, only to be greeted by a surprisingly distressed Mrs Hudson who had needed little prompting to disclose his friend's whereabouts. He had set out at once in an attempt to retrieve the situation. Little had he known his presence would lead to this.

"Holmes I am serious. If you can hear me open your eyes"

With the final fight of the evening ending rather abruptly the disgruntled crowds had filtered away and the staff were now locking up for the night. A couple of punters loitered nearby, seemingly concerned at the state of their favourite competitor. In Watson's opinion they had very good reason, for Holmes had now been completely senseless for almost fifteen minutes. Having treated far too many broken ribs over the years, he had long since feared an event such as this. Since leaving their shared accommodations, and knowing he would no longer be close at hand to repair the damage, had tried to persuade Holmes to quit the ring. He had been led to believe he had done so. Evidently it was not the case.

As Watson began to consider taking his friend to the hospital, the detective finally began to stir against his touch. A moment later two large brown eyes were gazing upwards, blinking softly before they focused upon him.

'Watson' he said with a wayward smile 'You …look ….gorgeous'

'Dam it Holmes!' his friend exclaimed, a wave of relief flooding his features. Leaning back a little he ran his hand through his own hair and took a deep breath. 'Don't ever do that to me again'

'For you my dear, anything' the detective replied as he attempted to sit up.

'Oh no you don't' Watson placed his hand firmly upon his friends chest. 'Stay exactly where you are. You took a mighty blow Holmes, I want you to stay there for a moment.' Slowly he eased his hand away. 'How are you feeing?' He asked as he studied him closely.

'Absolutely splendid' beamed the invalid.

'Are you sure? You look a little dazed' Watson replied as he noted a sluggish response of the pupils, and an unusually elevated pulse. He held his hand aloft and extended his fingers. 'How many?' he asked.

There was a pregnant pause during which Holmes glanced around the room, viewing the remaining stragglers suspiciously, as if only just registering their presence.

'Come on now' Watson coaxed 'pay attention.'

'Six' came the distracted reply.

'Holmes. Stop playing the fool, quite frankly I am not in the mood. Look at my hand.'

Holmes returned his gaze to the man who leant over him, holding his hand in front of his face. He focussed upon the fingers.

'How many?' The Dr repeated.

'Three' He answered with a lazy smile, gazing at them strangely, before raising his hand and gently stroking his own fingers against them 'Of all your digits Watson, these are my favourites'.

'Really' the Dr replied with a frown, not entirely sure how to respond. Confusion was to be expected of course. The infuriating fool was lucky it was nothing more serious. Once again he wondered how such an amazingly intelligent man could be so bloody reckless. Did he not realise he could have gotten himself killed?

'Holmes' Watson managed in a carefully controlled tone. 'I thought you had given all this up?'

Again there was a pregnant pause. The large brown eyes, which possessed a strange power he would never let Holmes know about, were now fixed firmly upon him. His friend had never looked at him in such a way and he began to feel slightly uncomfortable.

'Holmes? Why are you looking at me like that?'

'Watson. You look magnificent when your cheeks are flushed. Did you know that?'

'I think its time I took you home.'

'I could not agree more'

-oooOooo-

TBC…please review, it would make me very happy :)