In that interim period, between the moment of wishing Sherlock Holmes a very good afternoon and the occasion of arriving at 221B Baker Street for the first time the following day, at noon, I had dwelled much upon this new turn of events. The hotel where I currently resided was beyond my modest means; I also found myself lonely and in need of companionship. Could this prospective new partnership be any less fruitful?

If I did choose to move in, might this strange fellow Holmes cut my throat in my sleep?

My goodness, I had quite forgotten to ask if bull pups were allowed.

It was a good thing that I did not possess one.

Noon, then. As I stepped down from the hansom I saw Holmes leaning with his back to the wall, one leg tucked behind him to scuff at the brick. He straightened up when he saw me; adjusted his coat, uncrooked his tie. I stepped up to meet him and we shook hands for the third time in two days.

"I am wearing a new shirt. Do you like it?" he asked, apropos of nothing.

"Why, yes, it is very smart," I replied, somewhat taken aback.

He smiled tentatively.

"I brushed my hat as well. It took ages," he complained. "When we move in here, I shall get Mrs. Hudson to do it for me."

"Now wait a minute, Holmes," I said, in slight alarm. "I have not accepted the offer yet. I have not even inspected the rooms, nor do I know the details of the rent, or of..." I paused. "Who is Mrs. Hudson?"

"Our landlady," said Holmes, electing to ignore my bleat. He knocked upon the front door. He sighed, huffed and knocked again. "Mrs. Hudson is very slow at answering the door," said he, frowning. It had been just 10 seconds since his first rap. He set out a third flurry of knocks, the last of which saw the door heaved open and inwards; and there was the small, indignant figure of a middle-aged woman, peering out at us.

"Oh, it is you!" said she, scoldingly. "I heard you at the first knock, Mr. Holmes. There is no need to be so impatient."

"It is cold," said Holmes. He placed one foot upon the threshold. "And you were very slow."

I smiled apologetically at the dear lady, for I feared that she might slam the door shut upon the both of us. I introduced myself with my best ability and tact.

To some extent mollified, we were admitted entry by the lady of the house, and handed a small ring of keys to take ourselves around.

"She does go on," said Holmes, as he took the stairs three at a time.

"I am hardly at all surprised," I said, puffing behind him. "Are you always this impolite?"

He looked back at me with one eyebrow raised.

"Yes," said he.

He unlocked a large door, and we stepped through.

The sitting-room was bright and very spacious, partly furnished, with a bay window that looked out onto Baker Street itself, and a side door leading off to another area. Holmes extended his arms and twirled about, reminiscent of an off-kilter ballerina. I understood that he was encouraging me to examine my surroundings. I did so – steering well clear of him – but quite unable to conceal my pleasure and admiration of the room.

"How very lovely!" I exclaimed. I glanced across at Holmes, who was regarding me intently. "What?"

He turned and pointed at the fireplace.

"We can toast marshmallows!" he said.

"I beg your pardon?"

He performed an elaborate mime of impaling a marshmallow upon a spear and holding it over an imaginary flame, turning his fanciful stick with its invisible delicacy.

"Or bread," said he, amending the detail slightly upon observing my unimpressed countenance. "Oh, for heaven's sake, you do like toasted bread at least, don't you?"

"Yes," I said, my head beginning to spin, "yes, I do like toasted bread." I half turned towards the door leading to the sanctuary of the stairs. Briefly, I considered making a sprint for it; I wondered then if he would try to tackle me to the floor.

"Holmes," I said, gathering my wits, "have you ever lived with anyone, before now?"

"No," said he. Then he appeared to think hard, reconsidering. "Well, yes."

"No-well-yes?"

"I lived with people when I was born."

I blinked. "That would be only natural," I said, cautiously.

"And for a while after that, too," he continued, warming to the theme. "Until I was a little older. And a little beyond that."

"But as an adult, Holmes. Have you ever shared rooms with anyone as an adult, who was not family?"

"No." He tutted. "I already said as much, Watson, if you would only pay attention."

He stepped forward to the mystery door and unlocked it, sticking his head inside.

"This will be my room," he said with an air of decision.

"But -"

"It is not as nice as yours," said Holmes – to pacify me, I had no doubt. "There is an upstairs bedroom with the most excellent view over a tree."

"A tree?"

Clutching my sleeve, he led me eagerly up to the second floor and pushed me into the room before him. It was a cheerful, bonny space overlooking the rear yard, already furnished with the essentials. I glanced out of the window, for he was gesticulating with great eagerness that I should do so.

"Ha, you are right, Holmes," I said, peeping, "it is a plane tree."

"Well, I did not think it was as plain as all that," said he, in an offended tone.

"No, no, I meant – oh, never mind. I do like the room very much. And the tree," I added.

My new friend appeared pleased. For a minute or two he gabbled of the monthly rent, and the landlady's cooking, and the positive ambience of the neighbourhood. And by degrees I found myself warming to him, for I thought him to be deeply sincere despite his eccentricities, and anxious to please – a feat enough, from all I had heard of the fellow from Stamford. We wended our way back to the sitting-room, and Holmes told me of his chemical experiments – "They pong a little," – of his beloved Stradivarius – "Sometimes I ping, pluck and scrape away at it for hours," – and of his necessity to utilise the main room to greet his clients from time to time.

"Your clients?" I asked, intrigued. "So you run your own business from home?"

He opened his mouth, only to shut it again.

"It is not really a business," he said, carefully. "Well. Perhaps a little. But not really."

"I must confess I find it puzzling," I said, "but if you do not wish to speak about it, so be it."

"It is not haberdashery, money-lending or music tutelage," he blurted.

My lips twitched in quiet amusement.

"Is it a massage service that you provide?" I asked him in mischief.

"No!" He sounded horrified by the idea. Then: "It is not hairdressing, dentistry or greengrocery, either."

I burst into laughter then.

"I suppose by a process of elimination we might eventually arrive at the truth," I said.

His face broke out into a broad wreath of smiles.

"Watson," said he, "you have no idea what you just said, and certainly no idea how very much that has pleased me."

He clapped a hand upon my shoulder, and with very little further ado therefore, we sealed the deal with Mrs. Hudson. With immediate effect, Mr. Sherlock Holmes (occupation unknown) – and I – would be sharing rooms at 221B Baker Street. I found myself looking forward to the morrow, and the beginning of this new stage of my eventful life.