I walked through the door of 221 Baker Street after a long day at work. All I wanted was to sit with a good book in front of the fire, enjoying some peace on this hectic week. I lay down my cane by the door and hung up my coat and hat.

I wandered into the kitchen, wondering if I should ask Mrs. Hudson to make a nice pot of tea. Instead I yelled 'What are you doing?'

Holmes jumped and banged his head on the chair as he picked himself up off the floor. He turned and looked at me with annoyance.

'Oh, hello Watson,' he said with an attempt at nonchalance.

'I asked what you were doing, not for a greeting.'

'What does it look like I'm doing? Uni-cycling? Haven't I taught you anything about the powers of observation and-'

'Holmes, you cut the table in half!'

'Excellent Watson. The years of experience have not been wasted after all.'

'The table!'

'Yes.'

'In half!'

'Quite.'

'Have you gone mad?'

'Oh, I hope not. If I went mad, I might do something very stupid.'

'Like cut the table in half perhaps?'

'How could I do that? It's already in half, Watson, as you have pointed out twice already.'

'Yes, speaking of which, why did you?'

'Ah! Excellent question. As it is, I am trying to recall. I had some very good reason for destroying the furniture, then I did, and I couldn't remember what the good reason was. But rest assured there was one, and as soon as I recall it I shall let you know. In the mean time, why don't you pretend to know the reason and save yourself a lot of stress?' Holmes concluded his speech and looked up at me innocently, saw in hand.

'How do I know there was a "very good reason" at all?' I asked dryly.

'You have my word for it.'

'Holmes – '

'Yes?'

I sighed, knowing argument was futile with someone as stubborn as Holmes. 'Nothing.'

'Watson, you don't look yourself at all,' commented my partner, eating a cold dinner ('And you're lucky to get that!' Mrs Hudson had screamed) at half a table propped up by boxes.

'Had a bad day.'

'What happened?'

'Some fool thought it was a good idea to cut the table in half.'

'That is foolish.'

'You're telling me.'

'I am telling you.'

'Good.'

'You know – '

'I'm just so angry with him!' I suddenly burst out as inspiration struck, 'I might as well just storm out of this house. Leave him for good.'

Holmes turned pale and looked shocked. He spent some time rearranging his features, but couldn't hide an anxious frown. Eventually, he muttered something inaudible to his plate.

'What was that?' I prompted.

'What I mean to say is – that is, I'm – I mean, I'm sure I'm... he's... very, um, very sorry.' He returned to his meal with sudden vigour and determinedly kept his eyes down. Apologising, for a man like Sherlock Holmes, was an awkward and unfortunate thing to do.

Smiling slightly to myself, I let the silence drag on, heightening the tension for my friend. Finally, I shattered the silence.

'You know that man?'

'Yes.'

'That fool?'

'...Yes.'

'Maybe I won't leave him just yet.'

He smiled one of his rare genuine smiles, and said nothing.