"Holmes," his voice said the name sternly, as it had done so more than a thousand times before.

Chocolate eyes stared innocently at the disgruntled man.

"Yes Watson? Is there anything you need before you leave?"

Watson had just put on his hat and was about to leave Baker Street for home when something caught his eye on the shelf by the fireplace.

How the deuce had he not notice that during his visit?

Watson used his cane to point at it.

"What is that thing?" he asked.

The detective turned his head in order to look at the object in question.

"Why that would be a vase, my dear fellow. It's a miraculous invention used for the sole purpose of decorating-"

"No not that," Watson's patience was wearing thin, "What is beside it? To the left?"

A slight twinge on Holmes' lips, yet the dark haired man hoped that his friend didn't notice. By the darkening look on Watson's face, it was safe to assume that he did.

"That is a doll."

Watson took a few steps closer, the idea of leaving forgotten momentarily. Holmes chewed on his pipe as the doctor inspected the doll.

After a long pause, Watson looked back at Holmes.

"Where the devil did you get this?"

"Do you know of the toy shop down close to the docks?"

Watson nodded that he did. Holmes continued.

"It just so happens that I've come to personally know the owner. He had stepped in one day, hoping I could help him find whoever had been leaving threatening letters on his doorstep. When he told me that he feared for his life, I agreed to help him-"

"That case sounded like it could have been serious," Watson commented.

Holmes didn't seem to mind the interruption. He set his pipe on the table close to him.

"From what was written in the letters, the thought wasn't out of the question."

The doctor didn't want to feel hurt but, "Why didn't you contact me about this? I would've helped with the case."

Holmes turned away, trying to mask the bitterness he felt.

"It's just as you said. Those days are behind us. Besides, I couldn't possibly suffer the guilt of taking you away from your quiet, normal life to assist me on a case."

Watson frowned. He grabbed the doll from the shelf to get a better look at it. It felt like it had been stuffed with cotton.

The button eyes seemed to be staring back at Watson.

"And how did the case turn out?" he asked still looking at the doll.

Holmes turned back around to face him. He noticed the doll in his ex-partner's hands but said nothing about it.

"It was the store owner's son, as a matter of fact. He snuck into the house that very night with the intent of killing his father. He didn't see me in the shadows. It actually turned out to be a quiet affair. All I had to do was knock him unconscious using the pan I had been holding for just the occasion. After that we simply waited for the police force to take him away."

The confused look on Watson's face asked Holmes the question for him. Why was his son so intent on killing him?

"It was out of revenge, Doctor. James Shred Jr. wanted his father dead because he refused to pay for his outrageous gambling debt, something you would know a lot about I'm sure."

The detective smiled at Watson, who glared back. That just wasn't fair.

True Watson has gone back to gambling but he wasn't nearly as addicted as he had been. At least not in his opinion.

Watson held up the doll.

"So about this then."

Holmes was only too glad to explain.

"In addition to a fair amount of wage, Mr. Shred Sr. wanted to know if there was another way he could repay me. At first nothing came to mind, then I decided that I wanted him to design a doll for me. So I described how I wanted it to look and he made it for me."

"And you wanted the doll to look," Watson breathed out a sigh, "exactly like me."

Holmes couldn't prevent the smirk forming on his face. It annoyed Watson to think that Holmes would do something so perverse and frankly, creepy.

Before the doctor could say anything else, Holmes snatched the doll from his hands, holding it dearly like it would run away from him and he would die without it.

Watson's face was grim, a stark contrast to the plastered smile on the Watson doll's face.

Watson crossed his arms, his eyes narrow.

"Now see here. If you think having a doll like that is flattering to me, you're sadly mistaken."

"Well I didn't want it because I thought that it would flatter you," Holmes pointed out, looking at the doll endearingly.

The expression Holmes had on when he petted the doll's fake hair made the real Watson's blood boil. He didn't know why it had that effect on him.

All he knew was that that doll had to go. End of story.

"Throw that away," he ordered darkly.

Holmes seemed to be having the time of his life annoying Watson like this. His smile only broadened. His eyes gleamed as he held up the doll in front of Watson's face.

"I am Dr. Watson," he spoke in a childish voice, "I have a dog I share with my most beloved Holmes and I don't mind if he experiments on it. I always forgive him if he does something dangerous, like using morphine. I've seen the error of my ways and decided to sell my practice in order to move back in with Holmes."

He lowered the doll and looked at the real Watson. There was something akin to hope in eyes. Watson uncrossed his arms and sighed.

Ever since Holmes came back from the dead and found out Watson had been living alone, he had been trying to coax him into selling his practice and moving back in with him.

Even though Watson missed Holmes dearly, he didn't want to admit he would prefer to move back in with him, least of all to himself.

The night was drawing nearer and Watson wanted to return home before it got dark. Without another word, he stormed out of the flat.

Holmes watched his retreating figure until the door slammed shut. He looked at the doll, still smiling.

"We'll get him back," he promised confidently.

He made the doll nod his head in agreement.