Dr. John H. Watson

ZIP FILE containing 114 icons of Burke’s Watson from Granada’s television series: The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes ( 80′s ) for the lovely @hisboswell !! no credit required. ( but do refrain from using them w/o the permission of the aforementioned user ! )

PREVIEW’S UNDER THE CUT

“...” He did not know what she was doing with her watch, but from the looks of things, his instincts told him nothing good could come out of standing his ground.

So he quickly took a step back, holding out his arms in surrender.

“...” She looked dangerous and he should back out. But there was still the matter of the case he was helping Holmes on. He was, unfortunately, a man of his word.

Sherlock’s interest instantly peeks and he straightens in his chair, his laptop now completely ignored in his lap. 

“Well, there is always calling your brother or Lestrade for something interesting.” He knew that suggestion would be thrown right out the window, given Holmes’s pride.

Mrs Hudson had already busied herself with tidying the carnage that Holmes had left in his wake after he had finished emptying the books from the shelves of the flat in response to whatever had upset him this time.

“His brother,” Watson replied, bending down to pick up a few more papers, despite Mrs. Hudson’s insistence that she could handle the clutter.

The lull in conversation was sadly to come to an end quicker than the either of them expected. While leaning against the kitchen counter, Watson received a text, which he initially was relieved to receive until he noted the sender.

     As Poole stepped forward to assist Watson in bringing the      man inside, Dr. Jekyll stepped back, turned aside, and slipped      off in search of his medical bag. It was something of a relief to      have this task: it gave him, at the very least, an excuse to quit      his colleague’s presence and attempt to compose himself, which      he set about hurriedly the moment he was out of sight. With firm      conviction, he wiped away every visible trace of the surprise and      panic that had stamped themselves across his countenance; and      it was only once he was sure that he could act normally that he      returned to the parlor, bag in hand, to sit beside the groaning man. 

“I cannot be sure. The gentleman was insensible by the time I reached him.” 

Watson took off his coat and undid his cufflinks as he spoke,  the very picture of an concerned, professional physician.

         SHARING AN ENTHUSIASM with a bohemian meddler for      all that was bizarre could enrage even the most harmonious of Llamas      in the tranquil valley of Lhasa ( as holmes, himself, may testify to it ). if      the subtlety of sensations - such as the aforementioned example - was      to thwart abrupt  R E Q U E S T  (or was it a TEST) he would not be      frustrated nor aggravated. WHO KNEW? perhaps the good doctor had      acquired a particular aptitude in the paramount field of inferences &&      D E T E C T I O N, which, for a MAN who had once deemed it all as      ineffable twaddle, was an astonishing feat!

          holmes listened intently to his companion’s presumptions as to      whom owned the grungy pair of gloves. keep eyes observed as arms      extended to welcome what another’s gaze perceived; watching as      the luminescent light refused from being T A K E N elsewhere          for its sole guide were its footsteps. he was emerging as an additional      ATOM whose nature was animated rather than lethargic. 

             the details were mere windows of an overcrowded street, in a       more overcrowded W O R L D. pawns strolling aimlessly along the       pathway in a repetitious, eternal motion, acquiescing the REALITY       of windows WITHOUT PAYING ATTENTION to them. && if they       did, one of two outcomes would be granted.

                 WERE THEIR FINDINGS COMPATIBLE WITH THE FACTS   OR WERE THEY PURELY ILLUSIONS WROUGHT BY AN AMATEUR’S BRAIN?

Watson’s first instinct was to smile at the compliment. His second was one of suspicion. The result was a look of wariness rather than pleasure when he set aside the gloves, resisting the urge to toss them at Holmes.

After so many years, he could count the amount of times Holmes genuinely complimented him and his abilities in the field of deduction by...well, a finger, if that.

“...” Watson blinked, taken aback by the reply. He had been so certain it was about Sherlock that it never occurred to him that Mycroft would be asking him to do a favour that centred upon the other Holmes brother.

Too long, had been his first answer, though he swallowed that while he put on the kettle for tea. Instead, he replied, “A few years.”

Negotiating past the papers for the cups and the earl grey was a feat done quickly only from very extensive practice and knowledge of Holmes’s untidy habits. Thankfully the cups were clean, though he still rinsed them again just in case.