Inspector Lestrade was having a bad day. It had started out with a simple robbery case—or at least, he'd thought it was simple. Then an unexpected twist had thrown all his theories off track. He'd examined the clues over and over until his brain hurt from the effort. He was so close to the answer, he could feel it… yet the solution still eluded him. Finally, when he felt he was more likely to crack his mind than the case, he'd called in Sherlock Holmes. And of course, the detective had it solved in five minutes. In five ruddy minutes, he'd found the answer in that convoluted way of his, that made everything seem so obvious a rookie Yarder should have been able to see it. And now Lestrade was forced to endure the detective's maddeningly smug grin as they rode home.

"A most interesting case, indeed, Watson," Holmes mused, looking out the window. "Of course, I would have preferred something more challenging; this one was a bit too simple for my tastes. Absurdly simple, really."
"I'm glad you thought so," Lestrade muttered. Dr. Watson, from his seat next to Holmes, heard the outburst. He gave Lestrade a questioning glance. Lestrade pointedly turned away; he didn't want the doctor's pity. But he could still feel Watson's thoughtful gaze upon him.

"The hardest part, of course, was interpreting the orange smudge at the scene of the crime, but once that was resolved—" Holmes was interrupted suddenly as his companion jabbed him in the ribs. "What, Watson?"

The doctor leaned over and whispered something to the detective—a single word that Lestrade couldn't make out. Yet that word had great effect on Holmes. A moment ago he'd been smug; now he looked embarrassed and (was Lestrade imagining this?) ashamed. He shot a glare at Watson, who merely raised his eyebrows back. The detective gave a resigned sigh. It was only when the cab came to a stop that he spoke again.

"Lestrade?"

"Hmm?"

"You…you actually did rather well on this case."

Lestrade looked up, expecting to see the detective's usual snarky grin. But to his surprise, Holmes wasn't grinning at all. In fact, he wore a look of petulance that resembled a child being forced to apologize.

"You made quite a bit of progress on your own," Holmes continued, still wearing an expression like he was tasting something bitter. "I daresay you could have solved it yourself, had you only had a bit more information."

Lestrade gave the detective a skeptical look.

"You know, I've had quite enough sarcasm for one day." The inspector said finally.

Holmes snorted in disgust. He threw up his hands exasperatedly. "Fine; take it however you like. No wonder I don't give out praise more often—!"

The amateur detective stormed away. Watson began to follow, but first he stopped and gave the befuddled inspector a smile.

"He did mean it, you know," Watson assured him. "It's just that being humble makes him irritable."

"Being humble...?" The skepticism was clear in Lestrade's tone. But it faded as he watched the retreating detective. He'd been so obviously offended by Lestrade's reaction. Could he actually have meant what he'd said?

"You mean to say that Sherlock Holmes—pompous Sherlock Holmes, the self-proclaimed and self-absorbed greatest mind in London— just gave me a sincere compliment?"

"Indeed he did," Watson confirmed. "Even the mighty Holmes deigns to acknowledge us mere mortals once in a while."

Lestrade's gaze now turned to the doctor. There was something of awe in his eyes. "What did you say to him?"

"Me? I didn't say anything."

"Yes, you did. You told him something in the cab. Holmes would never humble himself of his own accord; you brought his boasting down somehow. I didn't think that was possible. What on earth did you say?"

Watson smile became more cryptic. "It's a long story. Good day, Inspector." And with that the doctor walked off after his friend.

*What did Watson say? Elementary, my dear reader; the answer is in the canon. See if you can deduce it. ;)