The day the doctor and I first moved into Baker Street was... interesting, to say the least. For one thing, Mrs. Hudson almost chased me out the front door after I knocked down her aspidistra, spilling dirt all over the floor. Fortunately, the good doctor was able to calm her down, though for the life of me I can't imagine how. The woman is a veritable dragon when she is enraged!

The rest of the day went fairly smoothly, though with hitches. For one, in the evening, when we we were hauling the last of the boxes to our rooms, there was another. The doctor had foolishly attempted to carry three boxes all by himself. Naturally, he didn't get very far up the stairs, and nearly toppled down. I rushed over to him and snatched the boxes out of his arms, not out of any foolish sentiment, just that it wouldn't have done to have his belongings scattered all over the ground. To be honest, I nearly collapsed myself, and put the boxes down in his room with a sigh of relief. The doctor began unpacking its contents with a murmured thanks.

I stared at the objects he held in his hands in abject shock. "Does this mean that I nearly broke my back hauling up the stairs three boxes of books?"


Something even remotely funny after that last depressing 221B helps, right?