When Mrs. Hudson told us she had a friend coming over for dinner that night I was pleasantly surprised. The poor woman put up with a lot from Sherlock and I, and the last week had been particularly difficult. I was glad she was taking the opportunity to relax and have fun. Which is why, when she politely requested that we keep the noise and disruption to a minimum whilst her guest was here, I promised to keep Sherlock under control.
Easier said than done.
Originally I was going to drag him out somewhere for the entire evening but the weather took a turn for the worse and I decided against it – unless he was in pursuit of a case, Sherlock objected to rain like a cat. I spent the evening threatening, pleading and bribing him to stay in our rooms, leave his chemicals and violin alone, and not pace around like a headless chicken. Eventually Mrs. Hudson's friend left and he was free to do as he pleased. I breathed a sigh of relief.
The Mrs. Hudson informed me that her friend was coming over again the next night, and Sherlock decided he wanted to be introduced.
Mrs. Hudson's friend turned out to be a cheerful looking man named Peter Robson. I soon realised the evening was supposed to be a date and tried to drag Sherlock back upstairs. Tried being the operative word. Sherlock, despite my best efforts, proceeded to make the evening absolutely miserable for both of them. Peter left much earlier than he had done the previous evening and I, along with Mrs. Hudson, thought he wouldn't be back. We both gave Sherlock the cold shoulder but he didn't seem to feel that he'd done anything wrong.
But Peter Robson turned up again the next night.
Sherlock smiled, shook his hand, and became the model of perfect behaviour. When I asked him what the hell he was playing at he said he was simply making sure Peter Robson was worthy of our admirable landlady. I grinned. It seems Sherlock Holmes isn't as heartless and untouchable as he likes to appear.