First off - I have nothing but the greatest respect for both ACD and A.A. Milne. I adore their writings. I grew up reading "Winnie the Pooh", "The House at Pooh Corner", "When We Were Very Young" and "Now We Are Six". As for where this story came from, blame my brother who planted the seed of an idea that grew and begged to be written. And, while I do not know for sure if Messrs. Doyle and Milne knew each other, it is not beyond the realm of possibility as they were both were in London at the same time.

All Because of a Broken Wrist

It was quiet in the softly-lit room; there was no sound except for the occasional riffle of turning pages and a continual, almost sub-vocal, murmur.

Two men occupied the space, sitting across from each other at a large desk. The two were friends; indeed, they could almost be called close friends despite their almost 25 year age difference. The younger gentlemen, a Mr. Alan Alexander Milne, sat perched on the edge of his seat peering intently at the other man, while at the same time trying to appear nonchalant. Milne was a tall, thin, beak-nosed man with hooded eyes who still held an air of military about him.

The other man, Mr. Arthur Ignatius Conan Doyle, was a broad-shouldered, moustachioed, bluff-looking man whose face was well known to the citizens of London. At the moment, Doyle was hunched over the most recent copy of The Strand Magazine, which was laid open on the dark mahogany desk. Doyle's right wrist was tightly wrapped and his arm was resting in a sling.

Doyle turned another page of the magazine and continued reading:

"Give up, Mori-Tigger," cried Sherlock Bear as the notorious striped criminal found himself cornered in a copse of gorse bushes. "There's nowhere for you to run."

"Right," pipped up John Piglet as he stood stalwartly at the side of his Best Friend and The World's Only Consulting Bear. John Piglet bravely took a step forward and said, "Where did you hide it? Where are the jars of hunny you stole from Mrs. Kanga's cupboard?"

"Ah, yes, the hunny," said Mori-Tigger as he turned to face the authors of his downfall. With a smirk, he rubbed his tummy and added, "It was delicious!"

"Buh …wha … you couldn't …" spluttered John Piglet as he gave the thieving tiger a baleful glare.

"Easy John Piglet, easy," said Sherlock Bear as he held out his arm to prevent his friend from taking matters into his own paws.

Mori-Tigger watched the goings-on in front of him with amusement. They might think they had him trapped, but Mori-Tigger had one advantage over the bear and the pig – a long and powerful appendage.

"You'll never catch me, Bear!" he cried as he crouched low on his back legs, his tail tightly coiled beneath him. Then, with a loud sproing, Mori-Tigger bounced high in the air, arms waving slightly to keep his balance, and disappeared over one of the gorse bushes.

"Oh dear," cried John Piglet, as he watched the hunny thief vanish over the leafy greenery, "he's gone."

"Not to worry, my dear friend, not to worry," said Sherlock Bear in a mysterious tone. His greater height had allowed him to see that D.I. Le'Eeyore had finally caught up with them and was currently positioned on the far side of the bushes. "Our police will have things well in hand … assuming they don't mess it up as per usual," continued the Consulting Bear.

There came the sound of a scuffle and then a loud oomph from the other side of the shrubbery, and then finally a melancholic voice called, "Well, I've caught him, if you want to come take a look."

Sherlock Bear and John Piglet quickly made their way towards D.I. Le'Eeyore. As the two friends rounded the bushes, they saw that the intrepid D.I. had indeed captured the notorious Mori‑Tigger. Le'Eeyore was sitting on the snarling tiger, who was laid flat on the ground with his nose smushed in a pile of leaves.

"Get off me!" cried the tiger.

"As soon as I get you cuffed, you're coming with me," responded Le'Eeyore. "John Piglet, would you mind?" asked the police-donkey as he gestured towards the darbies that were hanging from his collar. "And Sherlock Bear, would you please let your brother, Myc-Owl, know that Mori-Tigger has been captured. He's a suspect in several other robberies and I know Myc-Owl will wish to speak with him."

John Piglet quickly had the hunny thief's paws bound behind his back and had raised him to stand on his own two feet. "You'll not be tasting hunny for a while, where you're going!" said John Piglet as handed Mori-Tigger over to the police-donkey with a satisfied smile.

"Congratulations, Le'Eeyore," said Sherlock Bear, "another job well done. It's just unfortunate that it appears he ate all Mrs. Kanga's hunny."

"I do feel bad about that," said John Piglet. "She is, after all, the most patient and kind landlady in the whole Wood, and the only reason Mori-Tigger targeted her was because of us."

"Well, I don't think we should worry too much on that point. I'm sure we'll be able to procure some hunny from Myc-Owl. After all, he's on another one of his diets," said Sherlock Bear with a smirk.

"Come along, John," he added, "the case is done and I find I'm quite famished for a little smackerel of bread and hunny."

Doyle carefully closed the magazine with a small whimper. He had such a headache. He went to raise his right hand to his temple, but the pain of his broken wrist immediately put a stop to any movement.

"Well?" asked Milne eagerly. "What do you think?"

"Milne, my friend," said Conan Doyle with a grimace, "I appreciate your efforts; I truly do. But I think the next time I'm laid up and facing a deadline, I'll just tell my publishers to postpone my next story rather than have you step in as a guest author!"