Disclaimer: Holmes and Watson don't belong to me. Neither do Holmes and Watson. Nor Mrs. Hudson! And yes, Holmes does start singing Danny Boy.

A/N: I know this is a very popular idea. But you're just gonna have to trust me when I say I had this idea a long time ago, and just never got around to writing it. Here's hoping it's a little unique.

"Watson," Holmes mumbled, "today is totally, completely, horribly, overwhelmingly, unbearably, intolerably, awfully, terribly, unceasingly—"

"Get to the point, Holmes!" Watson urged.

"—slow."

"Amen to that," he sighed. Holmes sunk even lower in his chair. Watson looked on with disapproval. "You're ruining your lumbar vertebrae."

Holmes was unimpressed. "My lumbar vertebrae do not care for you medical comments." He moaned grumpily and shifted so his head and legs were draped over the arms of the chair. "I need a case. A mystery. A problem. A puzzle. A question. A dilemma. A—"

"If you list one more synonym for any word in the English language—"

"Une énigme, un défi—"

"Holmes, please stop," Watson groaned. "Sadly, after so long, your voice grates."

The sleuth scoffed. "On the contrary, Watson, I have quite a wonderful, soothing voice." He cleared his throat and began singing in a dulcet bass. "Oh Danny-boy…the pipes, the pipes are calling…."

Watson flopped his paper over his face. "Oh Holmes, no."

"From glen to glen, and down the mountainside…."

The doctor sighed again. "Next he'll be wanting the pipes…."

"Watson." Holmes sat up, beaming. "You wouldn't happen to recall where I put my bagpipes, would you?"

"No."

"Very well, I'll find them myself." Holmes hopped up from his chair and marched towards the closet.

"Holmes, no…you know how Mrs. Hudson gets when you try to immerse yourself in Scottish culture…."

"I could care less about Nanny."

"I'm painfully aware of that fact."

"She should be thankful I'm taking an interest in her roots."

"She hates when you go through her garden, you know that."

"Watson, what a droll sense of humor."

Without warning the door swung open. Watson looked up and Holmes whirled around as two very different men walked in.

The first was tall and thin, with a prominent nose and a strong chin. His eyes were steely and narrow, moving constantly but missing nothing. The second was shorter and rather on the plump side. He carried a cane and had a slight limp, possessing a kind face with a moustache harboring a few premature gray hairs. He was constantly glancing at his companion as if to make sure he wasn't missing anything.

The taller one was speaking. "What a long, eventful week, eh, Watson?"

"Rightly so, Holmes, rightly—good heavens."

The two men stopped cold and stared at Holmes and Watson. The tall one narrowed his eyes further. "Watson, it seems as if we have acquired a pair of visitors during our absence."

Watson immediately replied. "My good sir, just what business do you have bursting into our home like this?"

"Your home? These are our lodgings, doctor," said the tall man, looking around. "Yet none of our things. How intriguing."

Watson blinked. "Doctor?"

The short man looked puzzled. "Doctor?"

Holmes furrowed his brow. "Doctor?" The sleuth stepped towards the tall intruder. "Pray tell, man…how did you know he was a doctor?"

"Simply by observation," he said. "There is a worn black medical bag beside his chair. There are many medical chemicals and substances on that table there. And he has turned to an article in the paper about the spread of disease from our troops in India to England when they return from their service. Plainly a doctor."

"You left out the distinct odor of sterilizing chemicals," Holmes said, his earlier surprise replaced with smugness. Watson groaned inwardly as he recognized the symptoms—Holmes was getting competitive. "Very observant, Mister…."

"Holmes," the tall man said. "Sherlock Holmes. I'm sure you've heard of me."

Watson's mouth opened in both confusion and indignation. Holmes just smiled. "Yes…I have heard very much about…you."

"I'm afraid you are mistaken, sir," Watson said shortly. "You cannot possibly be Sherlock Holmes, because—"

"I am Sherlock Holmes," Holmes said. "And that is Doctor John Watson."

The tall man took his hands from his pockets and clasped them behind his back. "No, this is Doctor John Watson." His companion nodded.

"That is not John Watson," Watson said. He looked minorly disturbed about the whole business.

"Yes, it is. Military man and medical doctor," the short man replied.

Watson sat forward. "But I'm a military man and medical doctor!"

"How do you make your living?" Holmes demanded.

"By solving people's problems," the man who professed himself to be Holmes answered. "Quite a simple task."

"Hmm." Holmes scrutinized him thoughtfully. "And this is your home, you say?"

"Yes." The taller Holmes raised his brows. "And I suppose you will say it is also yours?"

"I will, because it is."

"I'm afraid you're mistaken."

"I'm afraid you're mistaken."

"I am never mistaken."

"Well I think you are!" Holmes argued. "I am Sherlock Holmes, no matter what you say, you ruffian!"

"No, I am Sherlock Holmes, rogue."

"Knave!"

"Cad!"

"Bounder!"

Watson rubbed his temples. "Today is just a day for synonyms."

The Watson impersonator shook his head. "Holmes, don't allow yourself to be pulled into combat with this—"

"Hey!" Holmes pointed his finger in the short doctor's face. "I will thank you to stay out of this, you…Watson imitator!"

"You will leave my companion out of this," the other Holmes said coldly, grabbing Holmes's arm.

Holmes glared daggers. "Unhand me."

"This must stop," Watson said, standing up.

"I quite agree," the other Watson said.

"There must be a logical explanation," the doctor remarked. "It could purely be coincidence."

"There is no such thing as coincidence," both Holmeses said at the same time. Both stiffened apprehensively.

"Perhaps a paradox?" the shorter Watson speculated. "What year is it, doctor?"

"1896," both Holmeses snapped.

"I was asking the doctor," short Watson said, indignant.

"1896," Watson muttered.

"Well…that rules out the possibility of a time warp."

"Time warps are ridiculous, Watson. I'm shocked you'd even consider such a thing," scoffed the Holmes impersonator.

"Never discard any theory until it is proven incorrect," Holmes reminded him. More glares were exchanged.

"Could it be there are two Sherlock Holmeses, and two John Watsons?" Watson suggested. "And you pair are simply looking for a different 221B Baker Street?"

"No. This is our Baker Street. You two must be lost," the tall man said.

"We are not lost, we live here," Holmes said tersely.

"As do we."

Holmes huffed. "Perhaps you live here, and Watson and I are completely confused! Yes! That must be it! We have been living in this house for five years by mistake! Whoops! Our deepest apologies!"

"He's barking mad," the shorter Watson murmured to his companion.

"I quite agree."

"I am not mad!" Holmes exclaimed.

"Completely bonkers."

"You're completely bonkers!" he shot back.

The Holmes impersonator drew himself up straight. Holmes tried to stare him down, but as he was a good seven inches shorter, it was a failed attempt. "I am infinitely more sane than you, man."

"You may be more sane, but I am certainly the better detective!" Holmes retorted.

"You're too emotional. Passion clouds the senses."

"Passion is the driving force behind my successes!"

"Oh yes, I'm sure they were both just wonderful."

"For your information, I have had dozens of successful cases! Many more than you, I'm sure!"

Watson stood in front of his counterpart and looked at him thoughtfully. "I do hope I don't look like that when I am older."

The shorter Watson gave him an irate look. "At least my hair is not the color of a rusty switchblade."

Watson raised his eyebrows.

"…and therefore my brain is 7% larger than yours!" Holmes yelled.

"7% larger? Then your head must be larger as well!"

"My nose is smaller!"

"I am thinner!"

"I'm stronger!"

"I'm faster!"

"I have rugged good looks!"

"I'm taller!" the Holmes impersonator bellowed.

Holmes opened his mouth to reply, but stopped. Turning on his heel, he stomped over and grabbed a stool, coming back and slamming it on the ground. He climbed up and the top of his head stretched a few inches above his counterpart's. "HA!"

"Holmes, get down before you hurt yourself," Watson sighed.

"No! You make him…get down…before he hurts himself!"

The shorter Watson shook his head and took his companion by the arm. "Our bags are still packed. I suggest we go to France for the weekend."

"I am not finished here," the other Holmes snarled.

"Neither am I!" Holmes roared.

"Holmes, really. You're going to give yourself a fit," Watson said as the taller Holmes was dragged out by his companion, who was trying to calm him down like the handler of a worked-up hunting dog.

"Begone from my house, fool!" Holmes hollered. Watson closed the door.

With a sigh of relief, Holmes hopped down from his stool. He calmly put it back where he'd gotten it and stood up, straightening his collar. "Well. That was quite exciting. Now where are my pipes?"

I suppose I just love blowing people's minds up with paradoxes! Paradoxes...paradoxi? IDK. Anyway, hope you enjoyed, and please R&R!

In parts this may be inadvertently inspired by a couple comics I've seen that were in the back of my mind while writing this, Holmes vs. Holmes pr 3 by Sadyna on dA and another piece by her featuring Holmes standing on a book (not sure of the title). If she or anyone who knows her happens to read this, know that I love both comics and any similarities (namely with the my-horse-is-bigger-than-your-horse shouting match between Holmeses and Holmes being too short so he uses a stool) only helped make the piece better. *worried about infringements*