WARNING: total crack!fic

Intuition

He did it again. That insufferable, no-good, wretch of a man. His genius only stretches as far as his insanity. Both armchairs, both! Turned the Doctor's chair into a block of swiss and succeeded in upending his own into the bleedin' fireplace. Bullet holes, singed cushions! Trips to the carpenter and the seamstress and her unbearable, simpering twit of a daughter. If I have to listen to another tale about one of her supposed suitors I will be forced to commit murder. It would be no large feat. Mr. Holmes keeps his more volatile chemicals in the bottom shelf of the liquor cabinet and that hemlock mixture in that old bottle of cognac. No, no it would not come to that, I thought savagely. I would not become a criminal for anything less than the brutal murder of the one who drove me to such heights in the first place.

"Is something wrong Mrs. Hudson? Surely the damage is repairable," Holmes stated dismissively, absently palming an Austrian Gasser revolver.

I realized that I had been silently seething for more than a few minutes and hastened to cover up my murderous thoughts. Surely a man so attuned to the criminal mind could sense my intentions. It would do no good to be found out so early.

"It is indeed sir, but may I enquire as to why the furniture has been subjected to such abuse? I was unaware that they were disreputable or so disagreeable to your tastes," I said blandly.

"They are not. I assure you it was perfectly necessary. I was merely trying to determine through experimentation the availability of using basic household furnishings as cover against varying projectile weapons."

For a man so brilliant, I am always surprised that he takes almost no notices of my blatant use of sarcasm. Either that or he simply doesn't care, in which case he is simply an arse.

"And what exactly were you trying to deduce from burning your armchair?" I questioned, trying hard nto to imagine snatching up that gun right there and then.

"Oh, a casualty of scientific discovery, I'm afraid," Holmes replied.

"Well, I can't do much for them until the morning, which is regrettable," I said, this time without sarcasm, "since the good doctor has been working very hard this week and deserves more than a hard desk chair to spend his evening in."

The Doctor held a very special place in my heart. For one, he was not the kind of lodger that went about destroying furniture for no good reason. Two, he was the only one who could fully understand the depth of my frustrations whilst living with a man of great eccentricities and general difficulties.

Holmes frowned. "Nonsense, there is plenty of room here on the settee."

I tried not to blink. "Of course there is. I will bring up dinner in half an hour's time."

I let a knowing smirk spread across my features as I turned to leave the room.

-o-O-o-

Dr. Watson made it home shortly after I had begun to set the dishes on the table. The poor man looked absolutely miserable. To spend a day in the presence of the sick and dying must be tragically depressing. Not to mention coming home to find your favorite armchair had been used for firing practice. He stood passively by as Holmes assured him that they now knew with perfectly certainty that they could survive an Austrian assassin, a German trapsman, an ex-military American, and the average Londoner, although to be wary of prize hunters recently back from Africa or India. As I said before, no one knows my pain more than the good doctor.

He thanked me for the meal, roast duck and boiled potatoes, and quietly apologized for the damage, assuring me that the two of them would pay for it with the completion of their next case. As I exited the room once more I could see out of the corner of my eye, Watson sit down at the table and after a few moments of coaxing, succeeded in having Holmes join him, although the man looked positively loathe to do so. Honestly, only he could substitute actual meals for tobacco. Insufferable man.

-o-O-o-

The next time I entered the room, I found the two sitting companionably upon the settee. By the time I had gathered all the dinner plates onto the tray for removal, Watson had begun to nod off, the grip on his papers slackening. Before I made my exit, I turned around to witness Holmes shift ever so slightly to accommodate the Doctor's head upon his shoulder as he continued to brood in the firelight.

My grin spread like a Cheshire cat as I went down with the dinner tray. In my room I sat diligently counting the minutes until I could observe the two once more.

-o-O-o-

It was nearly an hour before I heard the shuffling of burdened steps upstairs and I hastened to make my well planned interception. I wish I could deny I did not burst into the room like a rosy cheeked maiden, but to be fair it was an acceptably accurate description.

Thus I witnessed Holmes, supporting a practically drooping Watson at the door to his bedroom, only just managing to turn the knob while keeping his friend from falling face down on the floor. He looked at me with some annoyance as I entered. It was obviously somewhat difficult to support the Doctor in that manner. Watson was no small man even with Holmes' whipcord muscles concealed in his infinitely lean stature.

"What is it Mrs. Hudson?"

"What are you doing with Doctor Watson?" I asked, hoping to sound obtuse.

"I am putting him to bed," he answered tightly.

"May I remind you that the Doctor's rooms are on the second floor?"

"Yes, I am aware, however as you pointed out earlier, Watson has been particularly exhausted this week and he needs all the rest he can get, therefore I would be remiss to wake him just to make his way to his room when my room will suffice for the both of us. I am also exceedingly lazy, so dragging him up the stairs is not an appealing venture." He quirked his eyebrow at me. "Is that a problem?"

I shook my head. "Of course not. I brought you a pitcher of water, Mr. Holmes," I said, raising the object up some before placing it on the table, "but I must warn you now that my brother has sent me an urgent wire and I must go join him at the Broadcost Manor at once. I promise to return in order to serve breakfast tomorrow morn."

Holmes nodded distractedly as he began making his way into his bedroom, still holding his friend with as much tenderness as he could while more or less hauling him onto the bed.

"That's find Mrs. Hudson. I hope you find everything well with your brother. Good night."

"Good night, sir."

I then left the room, measuring the time of my steps down the stairs before opening and closing the front door with a definitive amount of sound. Waiting several breathless minutes I then removed my shoes and crept back up the stairs and to the sitting room to hide behind the back of the settee, listening for any sounds coming from the bedroom.

-o-O-o-

It was two hours before I gave up the game, so entrenched in my miscalculation I barely had the mind to keep quiet as I exited Baker's street. I found myself a cab where I was deposited at Broadcost Manor where I used my key to enter through the gate in the garden and made my way to the back entrance to the manor's kitchens where my dear brother was already waiting for me, a single candle upon the meticulously clean countertop by which he promptly lit a cigarette which he offered to me as I sat. The idiot was already grinning like an idiot before I could take my first drag.

"So?"

"Nothing." It cost me every ounce of dignity to say it.

"Ha! Pay up, big sis."

"If only I had a little more time."

"Time, how much more time would you need? How long has it been since this has been happening?"

"Four months."

"And how many days in a row now?"

"Twelve."

"If they have been sharing a bed for four months and have been doing so continually for the last twelve days and you still haven't heard the sound of rutting, chances are it will never happen."

"You can't know that. Unlike some men, maybe they prefer to take their relationship slowly."

He snorted. "What I do know is that if they were in a relationship there would be no way you could simply lie beside the gorgeous body either one of them possesses without trying anything. Incidentally, I also happen to know that this is half of the amount we agreed upon. Now cough up."

"No! You have a distinct advantage over me."

"Last time I checked, I lived four streets away and have never had any dealings with them or know anything about them other than what you inform me of or what I read in the Strand's publication of 'A Study in Scarlet'."

"Yes, but you know all about men who have dalliances with other men."

"Martha, I am shocked! I am not just a man who knows about men who have dalliances with other men. I am a man who does much more than have dalliances with a lot of other men."

"Bollocks, you've been with that Laurence bloke for over a year now."

"Doesn't mean we don't both enjoy other men."

"Oh Lord, that is quite enough. I will go to hell just listening to you. What is your reason for thinking Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson aren't together? If you explain, I will give you your money."

"Fine. For one, I do happen to believe that Holmes is not at all controlled by his baser urges, to the fairer sex or otherwise. I suppose that's the price for having a mind like his. You don't receive a gift without giving something up in return. For something as great and unique as his skills, he would have to give something of equal value. Personally I feel sorry for 'im. No amount of genius would make me give up taking pleasure in the touch of another. Now, in the case of the Doctor you said his prowess spreads across the continent?"

"Three continents."

"Exactly. See, with such credibility, Dr. Watson has enough self assurance to be confident in his own sexuality. Between the two of them, sharing a bed holds no sexual connotation whatsoever."

My eyes narrowed a fraction. "Which one do you fancy then?"

"Watson, without contest. He's caring and warm and compassionate. Not to mention his moustache is exceedingly endearing. There is also the added exhilaration of knocking such a fine specimen wholly off the beaten path. The good Doctor could heal my hurts any time. I suppose you sway towards the world's only private consulting detective?"

I hid no blushes in the candlelight. "Indeed. Mr. Holmes leads an intoxicating lifestyle. Dr. Watson is simply too…vanilla for me."

The two laughed and left their speculations for another day.

Meanwhile in the room of Sherlock Holmes of 221B, Baker Street…

"Holmes, come to bed, I'm dreadfully tired."

"In a moment dear fellow, I am preparing my disguise for the morrow. I am to be a French aristocrat. L'exécution sera magnifique," he said with a flourish of an ostentatious lilac cravat.

"I don't care," Watson replied irritably. "I'm cold."

Holmes sighed dramatically. "Je ne te refuse rien, coeur cheri."

He then blew out the candle and slid into the bed and Watson waiting arms, like they had done for several months now. Curious to see how far he could play this game, he whispered almost seductively, "Je t'aime, Watson."

Watson groaned. "I love you too Holmes, now if you would please be quiet, I would really like to get some sleep."

"I didn't know you could speak French, old chap."

Watson's response came muffled from the depths of his pillow. "Any man worth his stone would learn at least that much of le langue d'amour. I've no patience for poetry so learning the French tongue was infinitely easier in order to achieve success with the ladies."

"Oh yes, infinitely easier," Holmes drawled.

"Holmes," Watson moaned.

"Very well, I will see you in the morning. Although, if I may say one more thing—"

"Let me sleep, goddammit!"

"Fine."

Holmes fell silent thinking that perhaps now was not the best time to announce their landlady would not capitulate their fall into ruin due to the fact that she was thoroughly infatuated with him. Watson would be thoroughly put out if he knew Mrs. Hudson preferred Holmes over himself. Holmes also decided that perhaps telling Watson which Hudson did prefer him would have him fleeing out of the room in an instant, which would just not do seeing as how it would continue snowing for the next five days at least.

No, sleep was the much more intuitive thing to do here.

-o-O-o-

See, total crack!fic. One parts due to the fact I didn't have a bloody clue what I was going to write about next and other part due to the fact that I depressed myself thoroughly with the last chapter. Honestly, Ch.4 was my last planned chapter. This chapter was actually the result of the scrapped first chapter I wrote titled, 'Laziness' and the fact I suddenly realized that although Wiggins, random clients, Mary, Lestrade, and Gregson knew about these two, Mrs. Hudson has been mysteriously absent. I had to correct that.

Oh by and by, I did not intend to comment that gays are naturally promiscuous with my dialogue of Mrs. Hudson's brother. I just wanted to have a promiscuous-esque character. The fact he was gay was just a comedic coincidence.

Sorry if this chapter wasn't up to snuff. I couldn't help myself. Although honestly, this is how I imagine Mrs. Hudson's inner dialogue must be like. She lives a life of utter craziness.