The Stories Are True

221b Baker Street
12:50pm

"Holmes?" Doctor John Watson carefully enters the flat he once shared with the great detective, weary of what odd trap his eccentric friend might have set up for him.

"Oh. Hello Watson." Holmes greets as he continues with his project. Watson unwraps his scarf, before hanging it up along with his cane and makes his way over to his friend. The doctor glances around the room to find it just as messy and unorganized as his last visit. Holmes claims it is not unorganized, just organized differently. He also claims to know where everything is, though Watson doesn't quite believe that one. When he lays eyes upon Holmes, he sees the detective sitting on the floor mixing liquids of sorts into concoctions. "How was lunch at Marley's Café, with Mary?" Holmes inquires, not taking his brown eyes off of his steady hands at work. Watson smiles and shakes his head, in amusement. He used to be more surprised when Holmes would state things most people would have no idea of knowing, but having known this man for a good twelve years and having lived with him for nine, he's no longer shocked by the outstanding knowledge his friend possesses.

"I'm not even going to guess how you know that but yes. Mary and I had a splendid time." Watson replies and takes a seat in his old chair. Holmes kept everything the same, since the doctor moved out, even keeping his friend's chair.

"I am glad to hear that." Holmes exclaims, distractedly but sincerely.

"What have you been up to?" Watson asks, eyeing his friend. Holmes wears his usual off white button up, with black, pinned striped trousers, and suspenders hanging down. Watson notices through the cotton shirt how thin Holmes is. His brow creases with worry.

"Nothing of much importance. Though I have been working on this new concoction, using some cocaine along with many other substances to create an even stronger drug -" as Holmes continues his ramble about his creation, Watson just shakes his head in exasperation.

"More stimulation to the brain and the consumer more alert and focused." Holmes in finishes with proud smile as he looks to Watson.

"Holmes. You have got to stop ingesting such poisons. You keep on like this, you'll die before you're forty." Watson exclaims.

"Maybe. But it can revolutionize the way we understand the human brain and even help advance the medical field." Holmes argues his point. Watson just sighs.

"Maybe." Holmes goes back to his work when Watson decides to finally say something.

"Holmes, when was last time you ate?" Holmes pauses a moment before continuing.

"Wouldn't you want to know." Holmes mumbles. Watson rolls his eyes. Holmes can sometimes be like a child, argumentative and immature in some ways.

"Yes, I would." Watson replies, determined.

"If you must know . . . a week ago." Watson's eyes widen at the exclamation.

"A week?" He almost shouts.

"Don't fret, dear Watson. I will eat soon enough." Holmes waves a hand at the doctor, wanting him to drop it. Watson huffs and stands up.

"Yes you will. How about right now?" Watson asks, hopeful.

"Busy." Watson closes his eyes with a sigh and wipes a hand over his tired features.