The Illustrator's Fault

Holmes hummed thoughtfully as his eyes scanned the telegram.

"We're due there in an hour, are we not?"

"Yes..." He dropped it onto the chair and spun around for his bedroom, dressing gown billowing out behind him. "So it would seem, Watson, that we will catch this suspect red-handed."

"Will we?"

Lips twitched towards a smirk as he shrugged his waistcoat on, fingers flying effortlessly over the buttons. "But of course. Will you see this to fruition?" he asked, stepping back into the kitchen.

"Would you have me?" Watson asked.

Holmes allowed a glance at his watch before he clasped it closed, slipping it into his pocket. "If you will come."

"I'll get my hat."

Holmes smiled to himself as Watson hurried ahead of him down the stairs. Never a dull moment, praise be to the Lord. He lifted his travelling cape from the coat rack, and closed the door to their flat as he headed for the stairs.

"What I don't understand," Watson said, as Holmes rounded the landing and continued down the staircase, "is why the devil would he do it?"

"There are always some lunatics about, Watson," Holmes said, pulling on the cape. "What a dull world we would lead without them, to be certain." He gave himself a once over to ascertain that his revolver was on his person, and then lifted the latch in the door.

"What a dull world, indeed. Holmes."

Holmes glanced over his shoulder at Watson. "What is it?" Certainly his trivialities regarding one thing or another could wait until they were in the hansom. The thrill of the chase was within his veins, and the street's mournful calls beckoned him beyond the sanctity of two-twenty-one Baker Street.

"Here." Watson turned, holding out the hunting cap. It seemed hardly appropriate, given the circumstances, albeit he was seeking their criminal. "This one."

Holmes' head fell to the side slightly, muted curiosity in his eyes. "Why?"

"You're Sherlock Holmes, wear the damn hat."

Holmes sighed, taking a few steps back. The deerstalker cap, an item that had become a passing fad due to a certain illustrator. He grabbed the cap from Watson's hands and, giving his flatmate a glance which he intended to express his distaste for both the romanticised writing he did, as well as the illustrator's rampant imagination, perched it upon his head.

"Let us go," he said, and turned back for the door, stepping out into the cool night air before whim of fancy could produce further unnecessary impediments to their investigation.

"It could be worse," Watson declared. "At least you weren't stuck with this dreadful moustache."

"I swear! You must cease his employment, Watson, before you and I are turned to laughing-stocks."

"I have no say in it! It's a fine cock-up, Holmes, one I never intended to let stray so far."

"And yet it has. Charing Cross, if you please," he said, climbing into the hansom. "Our illustrative talks will continue at a later time, Watson, we have a case to resolve for the time being."

Holmes tugged on the bill of the hat and turned his attention to the window, watching as the streets of London flew by on yet another fine day.

. . . . . . I'm sorry! Dx My Sherlock muse went out the window. My love for it is as strong as ever, and with The Abominable Bride coming out in 54 days, it's getting stronger and stronger, but my fanfiction muse has been limited to a few fandoms not including my boys. So I'm so so sorry, I promise I haven't given up the fandom, and I haven't given up writing, so if you all are still hanging around, thank you! And please stick around for more; no promises can be made as to when I'll write some more but I haven't forgotten about you all!

THAT being said. This was hard to write. Old English is not my strong suit, but I wanted to write a thing for this scene in the trailer. This doesn't even feel like BBC's version anymore. I love the idea for the episode, it's gonna be so good, omg, but wow, it makes the muse even more difficult. xD

I do not own Sherlock. Thanks for reading~