I awoke to the sounds of birds singing just outside my bedroom window. Straining a bit, I rolled out of bed and set myself on my feet. It had been a very late night last evening, and a dull pain in my left shoulder told me I must have slept on something wrong.

I slid my feet into my favorite slippers and made my way down the hall. I knocked two times on the door, but, hearing no response, decided that either my companion was no longer there, or he did not wish to be disturbed. Such was his way. As I got down the stairs, I was greeted by the serving-maid, whom I bade to prepare breakfast and a strong tea. I then retired into one of the various armchairs that adorned our sitting room. The place was a mess, which was likely his doing, so I afforded myself a more amiable view of the street, gazing out the window. The sky was a cloudless blue, and the sun shone brilliantly through our windowpanes. It looked to be a beautiful London morning.

I sat there for a few moments, before I heard a noise coming from upstairs. It started with a loud groan, then the sound of heavy footsteps, and the creak of the door down the hall opening just slightly. His voice came down to me from his chambers.

"Is breakfast ready?" he rasped.

"Just about," I replied "You sound a fright, if I may say so myself. You should make yourself decent and come have some tea."

"I am in no mood for your nagging" came the reply, and the door was shut once again. He was quite clearly the worse off of the two of us, but I felt little sympathy for him, on the account of his deplorable behavior the previous night. After idling a few more minutes, the serving-maid approached me and informed that breakfast had been set in the dining room. I thanked her, and picking myself up, shuffled into the adjoining room. I sat down at my place setting, and was about to begin my meal, when my dear friend casually strode in to the dining room and took his chair beside me.

"Good morning, Holmes." I greeted. "Lovely weather outside, don't you think?"

"Hmm?" came his confused reply after a second or two. "Oh, yes, I suppose its fine. I haven't really considered… My head…" Holmes laid his hand on his forehead. Thinking I should do something to make him feel better, I poured out a cup of tea and set it down next to his plate.

"I did warn you about those opiates," I remarked "they aren't good for you. And furthermore, you should really learn to moderate yourself, both when we dine out and in this household." Holmes cast me an annoyed look.

"Oh come off it Watson" retorted Holmes "You sound like a flustered widow. I appreciate your concern, but don't pretend that you weren't hitting the bottle last night as well." At this, I was overtaken by a wave of embarrassment. I felt complied to say something in my defense.

"Look here," I reasoned, "It was only a few drinks and-"

"Calm down, will you?" Holmes interrupted, "You're agitating my headache." I could think of no polite reply to Holmes' comments, and so I contented myself with pushing about my food with my fork. After quickly devouring our breakfast, Holmes produced some documents from his pockets and began leafing through them. "I got the mail, in case you wanted to know," he said without looking up. I was about to excuse myself and return to my window side view when I noticed a look of intrigue creep over Holmes' face. "Watson," he called to me "what do you think this might be?" and held up a black letter bordered with gold.

"It looks fit to be intended for the queen," I said, drawing closer for a better view. "Are you quite sure it has the right address?"

"See that?" Inquired Holmes, pointing at the front of the letter. "'221B Baker Street'. Yes, I believe this correspondence was indeed intended for us." Holmes carefully opened the envelope, and pulled from it a manuscript that resembled its container in design. Holmes read it quickly and silently, and after a few moments of digesting its contents, he abruptly stood and said to me "Watson, get your coat."

"Whatever for?" I asked.

"We must make travel arrangements," replied Holmes. Suddenly, he was rushing all about the house, collecting things, putting them into order, and packing away his effects into boxes. He had a kind of wild look in his eyes, like the kind he gets when he is determined to puzzle something through, and so retreats from the company of the world. "I advise you to prepare, old friend," he said to me through his fury. "We are going to New York City!"