Hey guys, sorry for the late update! Here's the next chapter. Enjoy!

. . Anwynn. .

Some things that Sherlock said, John tended to ignore. Other things that she said, especially ones that were so outrageously feminine, he preferred to keep in his mind to tease her about later.

There was a resounding crack in the dark and dank alley, making Doctor John Watson flinch. Skidding to a halt, he looked around warily, gun held at ready for firing. There was only silence.

The muted sounds from the main street could be heard too. Orange light from the streetlamps seeped in, filtering through a rusted staircase. There were the excited sounds of children rushing across streets, giggling wildly as they chorused for sweets.

"Sherlock?" hissed John in a sharp whisper, blond-grey hair glinting in the orange as he cast quick glances around. There was no response. Getting a bit worried, John moved forwards, hand griping his gun loosely. Blue eyes looked around again as he took one cautious step forward. And then another. And another.

"Sherlock? Can you hear me?" asked the soldier, now walking much more faster once he ascertained that nobody was going to jump out of the shadows and attack him. This time he actually got a response. It was a frustrated tut.

"Come now, John. Surely you can hear my loud breathing," snapped an irritated voice. And irritated female voice. Normally the good doctor would try not to have any woman talking to him in that tone of voice. it usually meant something bad was coming. But this was Sherlock. She always talked to him like he was three years old.

"Did you catch him?" asked John instead, shaking out all thoughts of three year olds and carefully following the. Indeed, loud breathing. There was a grunt.

"No. He ran away. Text Lestrade and tell him to be on the lookout for a man dressed as a clown."

"A clown?" John wrinkled his nose and stepped over a pile of – what looked like – rat droppings.

"Yes. He had a green wig, a purple coat and an alarming orange shirt. And he put on more make-up than your last girlfriend. Polly was it?"

"You realise, the clown you're talking about is actually The Joker? And no, it was Pauline. No wonder they leave."

"It's not my fault that you can't keep a girlfriend for more than a month. Honestly John. And could you be any more slow?"

John rolled his eyes, briefly wondering why Sherlock had not come to him by now, and finally reached where the woman was. The brunette was sitting against the alley wall, a grimace on her face and her legs put on in front of her.

"What happened to you?" he asked, dropping into a crouch and scanning her ver for any obvious signs of injury. The woman glared at him, flicking her gaze back to her feet.

"I sprained my ankle." There was a brief silence after the proclamation before John chuckled.

"Of all the things that could happen to you – the mighty Sherlock Holmes – you get beaten by a sprained ankle!" he laughed, carefully prodding both her ankles. He was swatted around the head sharply as Sherlock let out an annoyed hiss.

"That is not a pleasant sensation. I would appreciate it if you stop prodding my ankle."

"You'll be fine in a couple of weeks, Sherlock. No need to get all fussy."

"Shut up. Now help me up. I don't want Lestrade's few remaining brain cells to die."

John huffed a laugh and helped the brunette up, supporting her with an arm around her waist. Sherlock gingerly put her sprained foot forwards and then instantly collapsed against the doctor's side, groaning.

"That…"

"Hurt?" asked John, his eyes twinkling and a grin sneaking up on his features. The detective turned her head towards her male companion sharply, a glower on her face.

"I have sprained my ankle, I thought it would be obvious it hurt, doctor." John held up a hand in a placating manner, keeping the other coiled about the slender brunette's waist. Getting a sudden spark in his eyes, he grinned, glancing up at the silver eyes.

"Trust me?" he asked. Sherlock gave him a puzzled look, scanning his face anxiously before widening her eyes.

"No. Nonono John! I will not tolerate the indignity – " whatever she was about to say was cut off as she let out a squeal. John had hoisted her easily into his arms, bridal style, and was chuckling as he walked.

"You're heavier than you look," huffed the army doctor as he stumbled forwards a step and quickly took off towards 221B.

"Are you saying I'm fat?" questioned Sherlock incredulously, suddenly showing the female aspect in her. And very strongly at that. Her grey-green-blue eyes were narrowed as she scowled.

"What? No! I never said that! Jeez, Sherlock! I never understand you."

"You just said I'm heavy, implying that I'm fat. And I will have you know, I am not fat!"

John let out an incredulous laugh as he carried Sherlock.

"I know you're not. Calm down Sherlock."

"I am calm," sulked the brunette detective, wrapping an arm around the blond's neck and jutting her lower lip out.

"'Course you aren't," agreed John, calmly pausing on the doorstep to 221B. He gave the woman in his arms a pointed look, making her glare even more furiously as she rang the doorbell. There was a small silence before the door swung open. It was opened by a smiling Mrs Hudson holding out a bowl of candy. Her eyes widened when she noticed who was in front of her. Sherlock sulkily snatched up a bar of chocolate.

"Sherlock? John? What happened?" asked the landlady worriedly. No matter what she said, she worried for Sherlock like a daughter. The brunette glowered.

"I sprained my ankle."

"Are you okay?" asked the older woman worriedly. The consulting detective unwrapped the chocolate and paused, staring at it intently before looking back up at Mrs Hudson.

"Do I look fat?"

John's laughter could be heard all the way down the streets.

So, how did you guys like it? Good? Bad? Okay? Early Halloween gift to all of you! Happy Halloween! And please review! (On that note, I might be uploading a Halloween one tomorrow. Look out for it!)

. . Anwynn. .