"Holmes! What are you doing?"
My friend looked up from his work. "Trying various ways to get rid of bloodstains in an emergency. You must come see."
I walked over, and though his shoulder blocked my view in part, I saw a large number of various powders spread out along the edge of his desk. He took pinches of a number of the piles, mixing them together. Smearing it on a stained cloth, he then attempted to rinse the stain out with water, vinegar, and a few more things.
As I stepped back a couple of minutes later, a bang resonated down the stairs. Holmes muttered under his breath, trying to keep the powders from flying into the air. His wrist hit the bottle of vinegar, starting a chain reaction. Various substances mixed together, spilling all over the cloth, along with the piles of papers strewn about all over the desk.
His sudden cry of disgust grabbed my full attention. "All over me, Watson," he muttered, grimacing. I set to work, cleaning the stuff from his bare arms. Eyes closed, he made it very clear how much it stung. But I refused to stop, insisting that it was for the best.
After a few minutes, he finally relaxed. "Well, look at that," he breathed. "That combination got rid of the bloodstains."