Disclaimer: I own neither Sherlock Holmes nor his faithful companion, John Watson. I do, however, greatly enjoy toying with them.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Truth
I will admit that I am, at times, somewhat childish. Forgive me, I do not see the value in paying attention to the idiotic pointlessness that are social graces and do not agree with the good doctor that a well-ordered room reflects and promotes a well-ordered mind. Man constructs such rules to give him security and pride in a world that he sees as chaotic; I derive such assurances from my art and, thus, understand the world as a highly ordered mechanism. There is no need for me to construct invisible and unprofitable regulations, let alone to abide by them for the sake of the less competent. But, I digress, dear reader.
Watson is not a hypocrite and if he were to ever act as such, he would promptly apologize and fix his former target some tea with honey and ask him if he would like some biscuits with that. No, I cannot believe that the man possesses a single truly immoral bone in his body and, with the exception of his gambling vice, would never intentionally inflict harm upon another member of the human race. I watched him transfixed by the first snow of the season from my armchair, however, and could not help but come to the conclusion that even my Boswell can, at times, be hypocritical; at that moment, he looked and acted more childlike than I could ever fear to be.
"Holmes! Can you believe it, my good man? The first snow of the season has come on Christmas morning!" His eyes gleamed and reflected the cold puffs of white falling from the sky.
"Indeed, doctor. There is nothing more exciting than frozen water falling from the heavens on the supposed birthday of the Christian savior."
"Holmes," he said, his face darkening, "you really ought not to be so cynical."
"Truth, my good man," I replied, fully amused by Watson's consternation regarding my purposefully negative comment, "is never cynical."