Lestrade looked at Holmes furiously. "You mean to say, the evidence that Mr. House's son was stood over the body holding a smoking gun -and would have inherited his father's will if George House had died, and that Gregory House hated his father because of the abusive way he had treated is mother before she died- is circumstantial!"
"Yes." The reply was instantaneous.
"Holmes," I interjected warningly.
"Why?" asked Lestrade.
"The man was standing at the wrong angle!" He grabbed one of my numerous notebooks from the desk and disrespectfully tore a page out, making me flinch. He took a pencil from my breast pocket and, leaning against the notebook's spotless leather front resting on his knee, drew a bird's eye view of a body. (The man had been shot while sleeping in his bed.) Then, the artistic Vernet genes came in and he scribbled one Gregory House's head stood to the north east of it, with a gun in his outstretched hand. Then he drew a cross on the victim's left breast.
"Point of entry." He murmured.
Using another one of my books as a ruler, drew a line from the gun to the cross. "See?" He demonstrated with his fingers in the air, using the pencil as a bullet. "It's the wrong angle. Why didn't he shoot his father in the head?"
"The romance of it?" I commented only half- sarcastically. "If he hated his father he might have wanted to shoot his heart."
"And he might not have wanted his father's brain all over his clothes, even if he did hate him," said Lestrade.
"It doesn't fit, though!"
"Holmes, I have some paper work back at the Yard to do. If you somehow prove your theory correct, I shall be there." The inspector got up and let himself out.
"Holmes," I said as soon as he had gone. "You can't possibly-"
"Oh, but I do." He reached over and put my pencil back in my pocket.
"Holmes?" I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.
"Yes, Watson?" he said, and his eyebrows rose, knowing I was to cross-examine him.
I got up, and slowly moved so I was stood over him. Then, leaning in such a way as I had to straighten very quickly afterwards, I put my lips right next to his ear. Holmes looked quite worried, unaware of what I was about to do.
"Norbury," I whispered. I twisted to look at his expression as I returned to my seat. He looked livid.
"Well, I suppose circumstantial evidence can be sufficient in some cases." He flashed a nervous smile at me. Had I blinked I would have missed it. "I shouldn't get ahead of myself."
"Indeed." There was a pause.
"Yes, indeed." We looked at each other's feet, crossed and leaning on the same footstool placed in front of the fire.
I swallowed. "Did you read the agony column this morning?"
"No, I got up late and Mrs Hudson cleared the paper away with breakfast."
"Oh."
"Was there something interesting in there?" There was another extended pause.
"I don't really know. I didn't read it either." I looked at his feet again. After a while, I heard Holmes sniff, and when I looked up I saw he had been silently laughing.
