Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and Mary Russell are not mine. They are however, Laurie R. King's and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's, but I say that they really did exist. And therefore, they can't have copyrights on them. So really, I shouldn't be writing this disclaimer at all. But I will, because I like to avoid tangles with the authorities whenever I can. Unless I need something to entertain me. And then I'll drive them all mad. And I don't care what you say, I'm not crazy. *twitch*

For Lack of a Better Title

By: Kirby Russell

"Poetic slosh." He thought aloud, throwing the magazine down as if it were burning his hand. "An insult to English literature."

"You hate it, I gather?" the figure on the couch called to him with amusement.

"How could you tell?" he replied sardonically. He stood taking the magazine, and walked to her slowly.

"What do they call this now? Surely not literature." He threw it into the flames of the dimming fire. She looked up at him and smiled. "If you don't mind me asking-" "I most likely will" he interrupted with a slight smile, but she continued as if he had not spoke. "-what was it that you were reading that offended you so greatly?"

"My latest 'adventure'. Trash, all of it. Romantic trash, read only by those whose brains are half developed." He shook his head and sat down next to her, waving his hands to make his point. She gazed at him lovingly, but neither of them could sense the love, only the amusement. "He tries, Russell, I'll give him that. But really, what is the point of all those words? As they say, one word does the work of a dozen. Someone really should inform Watson." He sat down with tired resolve to the unoccupied spot next to her.

She laughed, but said, "Really Holmes, they aren't that bad. And besides, I used to read those stories as well." He looked at her in mock horror. "Oh yes, it's true. I'm guilty as charged; they were really quite exciting too. Watson at least succeeded in capturing the thrill of your adventures. Reading one is almost as heart-pounding as actually being on one, and not half so tedious." She loved teasing him, and he played along with her. "Well if you like them so much, maybe you should take a cue from Watson, and start penning some of our adventures." Sarcasm dripped from his words, but she pretended to take them seriously. "Why Holmes! That's a fabulous idea! I never knew you had it in you. Why, I shall start tonight." She almost laughed at the astonished look on his face. She stood with fervor and turned to tower over him. Her eyes burned with what he mistook for determination, but was instead the love of a great prank. "But it shan't be a short story, oh no. Our adventures are much too long. It shall be a book. Entitled... oh blast, what should the title be Holmes?"

He continued to stare at her in a mix of repulsion and confusion until she burst out laughing. "Ah Holmes, if only I knew you were so easy to fool!" she exclaimed when she could catch her breath. He allowed himself a bark of laughter with her gay (A/N: if you don't know the definition of this word that I am using, go buy a really thick dictionary and start hitting yourself on the head with it. I like this word in its true sense and I don't care about that damn political correctness.) peals of amusement; and her heart mysteriously felt lighter, as if that had been her purpose all along. Pushing the silly thought out of her mind, she threw herself back down next to him, and exclaimed, "Oh I know! I shall entitle it: 'The Baker Street Apprentice'. Has a nice ring to it."

"But you overlooked the fact that I don't reside in Baker Street anymore, Russell. Please, your lack of logic is disheartening."

"Okay, not that then. What about..." she thought hard about the things they had shared over the years. "Somehow I don't think 'The Multiple Near-Death experiences of Sherlock Holmes and Mary Russell' would sell very many copies." "No," he murmured, now distracted by a stray bee that had landed on his forearm. She looked at him in his frozen position, wondering what it was that drew her to this odd man. "Hhmmm." She said out loud, trying to gather her thoughts around her. He toyed with the wings of the bee, using his long, lanky fingers to tickle the edges of the gossamer appendage. As it flew idly away, she murmured, "The Beekeepers Apprentice." He made a soft sound in approval, and relit his pipe. Knowing now he was too far into a train of thought to talk, she sighed and slowly stretched her legs out, so that her feet just barely touched his side. He stiffened at her movement, then slowly relaxed and let his legs unbend as well. She looked up at him sharply, not knowing if he was mocking her. But she saw his tired smile, and grinned in return. Silence filled the room, and, not knowing she occupied his thoughts as often as he did hers, she went back to her book once more.