"John! Are you alright, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked, bustling through the door. John shook his head and looked around the living room in mild disbelief. He was still in his pajamas—as was Mrs. Hudson, although she had the decency to put on a robe before checking in on John—and there was definitely a gun in his left hand and a familiar tingling sensation that he had in his fingertips after shooting.
"Oi!" Mrs. Hudson let loose. "What have you done to my wall?" John looked up and, sure enough, there was a bullet hole directly over the couch. He stuffed his gun unceremoniously into the back of his waistband and gave her the best smile he could muster before apologizing.