How dare you challenge me!? *acts indignant* I accept! And here it is. Watson is actually used in this story. Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century, I wish I did, but I don't. However, I do enjoy writing fics.

Part of this story is a slightly modified excerpt (consists of Doyle’s work, pieces I modified, and pieces of my own I’ve added in) from A Study in Scarlet by Sir Author Conan Doyle.

---

It was another dreary day in New London. A lone detective stared out a misty window only to find himself shrouded in the mists of memories. It was no use to hold back any longer. No one could see him now. A single tear dropped from his cheek to land on a tarnished floor. ‘Watson....’

---

"What ineffable twaddle!" Watson cried, slapping the magazine down on the table; "I never read such rubbish in my life."

"What is it?" I asked.

"Why, this article," he said, pointing at it with his egg-spoon as he sat down to his breakfast. "I see that you have read it since you have marked it. I don’t deny that it is smartly written. It irritates me, though. It is evidently the theory of some arm-chair lounger who evolves all these neat little paradoxes in the seclusion of his own study. It is not practical. I should like to see him clapped down in a third class carriage on the Underground and asked to give the trades of all of his fellow travelers. I would lay a thousand to one against him."

‘Arm-chair lounger? Impractical? Well, well, well...however, he did say that it was ‘smartly *pause* written,’’ I thought, as I figuratively plastered a smug grin within my mind.

"You would lose your money," I remarked calmly. "As for the article, I wrote it myself."

"You!"

His face was priceless. The shock, the indignity, the shameful embarrassment, the revelation of all that he had been trying to deduce relentlessly for the past few weeks laid within a single article that he himself had tossed aside. He didn’t hold back for that single instant. So open. One can never lie with a face like that. It would be interesting to see just how this arrangement would work out....

---

Lifting his head up to again stare at the rolling mists, the detective contemplated his memories.

How was I to foresee how valuable and dear a friend he would become in coming years?

A slight smile broke his dreary frown as he continued.

And to think he even found a way to follow me to this day and age. Well, as not as himself, but in another. Yes, this new Watson does resemble the Watson of old. Wires and circuitry have replaced his body, but his essence remains. Or did.

He closed his eyes wearily in defeat as memories, more recent, began to overtake his mind.

---

Just like in the old days. Well, almost.

Rain splattered the concrete as two figures dashed down the street, tearing after a phantom. In their zeal for justice, neither had noticed a shadow following them. Rounding a corner, the first stopped and said a few words lost to the downpour as the rain flowed from the rim of his cap. The second stopped to the side, determined to help but knowing to give distance at the same time.

The phantom turned and to neither’s surprise, mouthed something as well. All words were lost to the rain, the vivid falls of water that created its own unique mists as it bounced off the concrete refusing to lie still. A single drop of rain fell from his brim, and just as it fell, gave an instant of complete magnification on the phantom. Fenwick.

The sparks of life continued to fall, and a single sound broke through the staticky rain.

*splash, splash*

The first turned, but too late. The all too familiar sound of an ionizer’s releasing charge was heard as a wave of pressure hit him throwing him to the ground.

‘I should be dead by now,’ the first thought, before realizing a fatal end. Watson, with enhanced sensors, had shown far better reaction time than he himself had. Yet, only good enough to knock him out of the way.

Coughing slightly, the detective slowly lifted his head. His arm was dislocated and hanging next to him limply. However, the detective had not even noticed. His dazed stare fell upon his friend and counterpart.

Rushing to rise, the detective had barely made it to his feet before a long, low laughter was heard, tinged with victory and glee. An involuntary shudder passed through his body as the detective both heard the laugh and saw what he had most feared.

A deep hole had been blasted through Watson’s chest. The melted wires still hot from the blast slowly dripped only to cool and harden like a silvery scab forming over a still-bleeding wound. His elastomask was flickering with different expressions: pain, joy, anger, fear, and then, nothing at all as the rain, the rain that should have been a rejuvenating blessing, instantly darkened and drew the life from a dear friend.

Dropping to his knees, the now lone detective removed his Inverness and draped it across his friend, hanging his head in defeat as the cold rain still fell ever so harshly upon the pair.

---

He can never return, or if he does, he’ll never be the same. The cold, relentless rain has taken him away again. Nothing can fix circuitry that was corroded, torn and melted moments before succumbing to the deep falling rain.

His eyes shot open and a single thought crossed his mind. "Moriarty. You will pay."

Never again shall you hurt anyone near me. I’ll finish you once and for all, with not even a speck of DNA left to clone.

He grabbed his Inverness and stormed to the door, but just before slipping out into the misty street, he looked back upon the flat, remembering all he would leave behind.

Fare thee well, Watson, Lestrade, Irregulars. I take my leave.

THE END