"Oh Doctor Watson, thank heavens you're here!"
Dr. John H. Watson sighed inwardly as he ascended the stairs of 221 Baker Street to the second floor landing, where the long-suffering landlady of the premises, Mrs. Hudson, stood wringing her hands.
"Mrs. Hudson. Is everything alright?"
At that moment, two quick, successive bangs emanated from the door behind Mrs. Hudson, who let out a yelp before managing to clamp a hand over her mouth.
Watson cringed and looked at the distraught landlady, who blurted, "He's been at it all afternoon! I beg you, Doctor, do something!"
"But of course," Watson said hurriedly, moving around her and reaching for the door knob. "Don't worry. I'm sure it's –"
As Watson grabbed the door knob, another bang sounded, quickly followed by the sound of a huge crash. He cast one last glance back at the worried landlady, yanked the door open and stepped quickly inside.
The apartment was dark. Watson stood still for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the gloom, ears pricked for any sound.
"Ah, Watson," a voice rumbled from the darkness. "So glad you're here. I'm in the middle of testing a new device I've recently cr—"
"Holmes," Watson interrupted, striding towards the source of the sound, "Do you have any idea what sort of ruckus you're causing? You've about given Mrs. Hudson a heart attack – again – "
"Nanny," said the voice dismissively from the darkness. "Do you know, the other day she had the nerve to – "
"No Holmes, I do not," Watson cut in, changing direction and stepping over towards one of the windows that faced the street and yanking open the heavy curtain. There was a strangled yell, and Watson turned to see a very pale and disheveled Holmes crawl out of a nearby dark corner, half-lit pipe in mouth and loaded pistol in his right hand.
Watson sighed, and looked pointedly at the pistol. "Ah, I see. The source of Mrs. Hudson's consternation."
Holmes weakly waved a hand in the air as he dragged himself up into one of the chairs near the fireplace. "Mrs. Hudson, pah. Do you know, Watson, I'm on the brink of creating a device that will enable a pistol to fire numerous shots in succession without having to –"
"Just what the world needs, I'm sure," Watson interrupted, lowering himself into the chair opposite Holmes and clearing the nearby table of old newspapers, tobacco ash and what looked suspiciously like a half-consumed bottle of absinthe. "I came round yesterday, Holmes; I haven't seen you in weeks. I admit I was somewhat surprised to not find you home."
"Just because matrimony has ended life as you know it, dear Watson, does not mean that my own has ceased to go on as well," Holmes said peevishly, snatching the half-empty bottle of absinthe from Watson's hands. "If you must be appraised of my comings and goings, I will tell you that I was out on a very important errand."
"Indeed?"
"Quite."
"New case?"
"Not that you'd have any interest."
"No, I suppose not."
"Irene is back in town," Holmes announced, rather abruptly, as he turned to care for the last remnants of the fire still glowing in the fireplace.
Watson groaned. "Ah, Holmes, you cannot be serious."
"Serious? I assure you, Ms. Adler is in London as we speak."
"No, Holmes, not about her being here. About your concerning yourself with the matter."
"Why should I not? I've always found her comings and goings to be most intriguing."
"Yes, and a fat lot of good that's done you," Watson countered, warily eyeing Holmes as the latter vehemently stabbed one of the logs in the fireplace, sending sparks flying. "That woman has caused you nothing but grief, Holmes."
"That's as may be," Holmes mused, staring in to the fireplace. "But I'm afraid, Watson, that this time Ms. Adler is in some rather serious trouble."