Conjoined

Holmes had just pressed the button on the typewriter that would change the course of fate for Watson's story forever. One simple little tap and the ending was altered. Pleased with himself, he straightened up and stretched his dreadfully cramped limbs; he'd been perfecting his chair act for the better part of the hour.

He was alerted to Watson's return at the quiet patter of feet on wood. He looked towards the door just when Watson walked in. The doctor stopped. Holmes blinked.

It occured to Holmes that Watson had absolutely no idea what to say or what to do; he was just standing there, dumbfounded, one hand still clutching the package in which Holmes had managed to inconspicuously state his existance. He simply looked shocked, his odd shade of greenish-gray eyes wide with the impossibility of the situation.

Holmes moved first, reaching up to pull the hood of the disguise off. "Come now, old boy, you look as though you've seen a ghost."

Watson unfroze at his words, taking three long strides across the room before Holmes was subjected to possibly one of the tightest hugs he'd ever received, much less from the doctor. "You bastard. I knew you weren't dead."

"Of course I'm not dead, doctor. You should have noticed: I'm standing right here," he replied, awkwardly attempting a hug in return to Watson's tight grasp.

"You're supposed to be dead. You were... You were supposed to be. How did you manage it?" The doctor had pulled away then, but only slightly, and his eyes were assessing Holmes's figure.

"Are you implying that I should be dead, Watson?" he replied pleasantly.

"You're supposed to be," Watson whispered, his hands slipping away from Holmes's shoulders. He took a step back and shook his head, Holmes hearing him let out a breath that he'd been holding. "But I suppose I'm not surprised. Or rather, I shouldn't be. After all, you are-"

"Sherlock Holmes, yes, yes," Holmes finished, slapping his friend on the back as he moved by. "Come along, Watson."

"'Come along?'"

"Yes... I heard of a series of people dying mysteriously of an unidentifiable disease on the outskirts of Liverpool. Seeing as how I'm supposed to be dead, this is right up our alley."

"'Our' alley?"

Holmes turned, fixing Watson with a glance that clearly read too well what he was thinking. But, he turned, and continued downstairs as if he had been familiar with Watson's home for ages.

As Holmes headed downstairs, he smiled faintly to himself. He knew what his partner was thinking. But, sometimes, you had to face the facts:

Some people just couldn't be seperated.

Another drabble in the likes of Holmes! This obviously, picks up from the end of Sherlock Holmes: Game of Shadows.

I was seriously pondering it last night; what is the plot for the 3rd movie going to be? If it's been released, I've failed to see it (so let me know? :D). Otherwise, give me your predictions. I'm curious to know what people are thinking.

Thanks for reading!