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I began to uncontrollably giggle at him. I generally felt compelled to tickle him or to attempt some other childish rubbish every time he said it. And who could blame me? The man was absolutely fictional.

"What, my dear Russell, is so terribly amusing that you must emit such attractive snorting noises? Russell! For God's sake, attempt to control yourself for the sake of my tea!" Holmes unhappily slid his tea cup away from me to avoid spilling it and took up his newspaper once again; I managed to regain my composure.

"I swear, Holmes, every time you say 'elementary,' I feel like I am in one of Uncle John's stories. I mean, look at you! The Victorian armchair, the pipe... all you need is a bloody deerstalker and you will be the great Sherlock Holmes!"

Holmes raised an eyebrow at me. "'My God, it has a brain!' Really, can I be blamed for acting like myself? It is not my fault that Watson has turned me into some sort of icon."

Holmes looked out the window and thoughtfully puffed his pipe. I could tell that he missed Watson but avoided saying anything to that effect.

"You know, I never did own a deerstalker. Thanks to that Paget fellow, I am being mocked by a sixteen-year-old in my own home. Now, put your young energy to better use and go buy me some tobacco."

I would do nothing of the sort.

"I will do nothing of the sort, Holmes. You buy your own tobacco. What am I, your housemaid? If you are judging me on the basis of gender..."

"Russell," Holmes chided, still looking rather pensive, "I am not judging you and if I were, I would judge you based on your respect for your elders. Now, about the tobacco..."

"Fine then!" I said, pulling on my boots. "If I am to buy you your cancerous muck, you must agree to buy me a deerstalker."

"Very humorous, Russell," Holmes said, revealing his perfect teeth to me. It was a mystery to me how on earth his teeth could be so white considering all of the tea, coffee, and tobacco he consumed.