"Your professor is very personable fellow, Watson."
"Ha, that's only because you did not have to spend four years at the University with him, my dear Holmes."
. . .
The case went good, and after some interrogating – from my side, and throwing scalpels against the wall – from Holmes's side, justice has been done, and we could go back to our home.
. . .
"Oh, you are back already?"
"Yes, Mrs. Hudson. The case went quickly."
"Well, I'm not surprised Doctor... And, Mr. Holmes, there are two gentlemen waiting for you upstairs."
"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."
. . .
"Holmes! Finally."
"Lestrade."
"John."
"Alexander!"
"Doctor Campbell."
"Mr. Holmes."
And introducing was done.
Lestrade seemed to come to tell us about some new case he was at his wit's end with – again. And Alexander simply made a visit to see me.
. . .
"Well, gentlemen, I think we shall leave you alone. Our presence is not necessary anyway... Come Alexander."
"But we've got a case, Watson."
"Oh, I am sure you can solve it without my assistance."
"I do indeed... But you won't be capable to write about it, for you will not be there."
"I am convinced, Mr. Holmes that you will initiate John into it later," said Alexander.
"But I...!" he stopped himself in the middle of sentence, and when he saw my questioning look, he cleared his throat and continued with calm voice: "Yes. I will. You may go, of course."
"Thank you. Lestrade."
"Doctor Watson. Doctor Campbell."
"Gentlemen."
And parting was done.
. . .
"No! I don't believe you!"
"He really did."
"You must be joking, John."
"I really am not."
"But... but that is horrible. To let you think he's dead for... three years?! And after that, how can you still be friends?"
"I know," I smiled at Alexander's reaction. "I guess I just have a strange taste in choosing friends. (...) You see, there's one – you probably do not know him – his name's Alexander and he-"
But I did not even finished, for we both burst out laughing.
"Ah, John," he sighed, still struggling the twitching of his mouth, "I missed you, old chap."
"So did I, Alexander. So did I..."
"I always regretted you haven't gone to America with me."
"Yes."
"You know, actually I'm not staying in London for long. I'm going back to New York, and... I was thinking, that maybe... you could go with me. I you want."
"Goodness me! I'm – I'm flattered, of course, but Holmes..."
"Oh, Holmes. And what about him? You've just said he's terrible, and untidy, and never do listen to you, and that sometimes you truly want to punch him in the face."
"Well, yes. I do. And he is. He certainly is everything that I have said, but somehow... I feel he needs me."
"Ahh, well then..." he shrugged his shoulders and turned his head away.
"You know what?" I said to perk him up, "I'll think it through."
He looked back at me with cheery smile: "Good."
. . .
"So," I tried to start a conversation with a man, who was now rummaging through a mound of old newspapers, when I found myself once again sitting in the armchair in our shared flat at Baker Street, "the case that Lestrade was here for?"
"Can't you see I'm working on it right now, Watson?" His tone was not very pleasant I could tell. "And do not just sit there! You could give a hand at least."
"Right," I sighted, getting up from my seat, "what are we looking for?"
"Anything that has to do with Italian shoes import," he retorted.
"Fine..."
. . .
"And what about your friend – Doctor Campbell?" he asked me from behind the paper, which – to my great surprise – actually contained something about Italian shoes and the boat which brought them to the City.
"He offered me to go to America with him."
"What?! (...)I mean," the Detective realized what he was doing, and immediately lowered his voice, making it low and firm again: "did you accept it?"
"Well, I said I will think it through."
"But you don't intend to go, Watson, do you?"
"I don't know, Holmes. That's why I have said it."
"Oh."
"But I think I'll know till the Saturday lunch."
"Hm."
"And now," I said, pulling out my notebook, "tell me about that case."
