AN: I really wrestled with "elsewhere" this week, and even wrote an alternative one in case I backed out at the last minute. I have the characters of Reg Janii and Emily Francis more developed that one would think, and I wanted to highlight Emily in the light that I originally conceived her. I hope you enjoy.

Is there a right way on how to put a greeting card into an envelope? Should the fold be facing up or down?

- B.B.

The fold of the card should be at the bottom of the envelope for two reasons; if there is something in the card it will not fall out when removed and if a letter-opener is used on the envelope it is less likely to damage it. The front should be at the back of the envelope so it is the first thing seen when removed.

When someone at a formal dinner begins speaking on a topic that may be controversial or offensive, is it polite to try to change the subject or is it preferable to let the speaker continue until he (or she) runs out of things to say?

- K.V.

It depends on the speaker. If it is someone who is a guest in your house, then it is preferable to wait for a pause and change the subject tactfully. If you are truly offended by this subject and the person does not hold great power over you, you may wish to make them feel as awkward as possible in doing so ("Oh, my... Well, I suppose some people merely haven't had the experience to think otherwise. Now, has anyone seen the new exhibit at Tussard's?"). It will let them know that the topic is closed for the rest of the night. If you are their guest, it is usually best to just keep quiet and make it obvious that you are discomforted with it. If they do not take the hints, merely offer no input. It can be hard not to speak up, but there are times when silence is best.

When you're at a restaurant, after you have made your selection from the menu, what should you do with it? Do you place it closed directly in front of you, or place it hanging halfway off the table?

- C.B.

The problem with placing it hanging over the table is that a passing waiter is likely to knock it off. Once you are done with the menu, you should fold it and place it in the corner across from you as a sign that you are ready to order. If you are with a group of people they should be stacked together.

Is Mr. Holmes allergic to anything?

And did he have a childhood pet?

- C.C.

Sherlock is allergic to strawberries and large doses of sulphur. Mycroft is allergic to vanilla (and I wished he'd told me this rather than letting me find it out the hard way).

That makes two of us. - M.

They never had pets. Apparently their father was deathly allergic to animal dander. Although Sherlock kept a fish, I'm to understand it was short-lived. I hope this is because of the natural mortality of the animals and not aggressive action on Sherlock's part.

My marriage was arranged to a rather prominent banker and while at the time I was happy, three months later I still have not been able to strike a decent conversation with him! We have so little in common; all he ever seems to talk about is his garden. Normal men have clubs, but when he comes home he goes straight to the large garden in the backyard and sometimes stays out there through dinner. It's starting to drive me around the bend that I have so little interaction with my husband. Can you tell me how to get him out of the dirt and into the sitting room?

- L.L.

Might I make a suggestion? Perhaps you should stop trying to get him into the sitting room and go out into the garden yourself. It sounds as if it's more likely to happen. Sit nearby as he works (or if you are not expecting company, put on an older dress and help him), and ask questions about what he's doing. You say he's always talking about his plants, so listen. Botany is a broad subject, surely there is something in there to interest the both of you. By opening yourself to his interests, you are bound to make him more open to the things you enjoy as well.

I plan to clip this out and save it next time you roll your eyes at me for trying to teach you a little about deduction. Don't think I cannot tell when you are tuning me out. - M.

My daughter-in-law seems to have absolutely no common sense when it comes to antiques. We recently gave their household a beautiful Persian area rug for her and my son's anniversary and were complimented highly on it and yet next time we visited, we saw a new rug of sub-par quality and were told by her that she "didn't quite like" the one we had given them (although I made sure it was perfectly complimented to their sitting room) and that she had it in storage. Is there any possible way I can get her to realize that quality truly matters in a good?

- F.R.

There is a slight chance that your daughter-in-law has a reason for not wanting to use a good rug. Do they have new children or pets? She may be worried it will get ruined and would rather have a cheaper one destroyed. If you truly feel that she has no taste in the matter, perhaps you should teach her some. Invite her out with you, take her shopping under the guise of purchasing for your own home, and casually explain a few things to her. It could be the start of a great friendship.

I am a newlywed and just starting to write thank-you notes to those who attended our wedding. I was very careful in recording the wedding gifts, but there is a gift that had no name on it and I cannot find any trace of who gave it to us." We have no gifts on record for three of my wedding guests. I want to send them a thank-you note, but I do not know who to thank for the gift. Should I ask these three wedding guests whether they gave us this present? If so, how is the best way to ask without offending anyone (I'm afraid it will seem as though we're hinting that we're expecting a gift from the ones who didn't give us anything)?

- D.B.

I suggest that you write a short note to each friend, in which you thank him or her for coming to the wedding (and explain how much his or her presence meant to you, and so on). Make no mention of gifts whatsoever. The one who gave the present to you, upon seeing no mention of it, may contact you to ask if it got to you (in this case, assure them it did and apologize for losing track of the name). If not, they were thanked all the same for it.

Mrs. Holmes, I recently graduated from nursing school and am now working at a hospital. I enjoy my job very much, but all of a sudden it seems my friends want free advice whenever I am with them about every illness, ailment and pain they have ever had in their life. Not only do I not want my profession to change any relationships, I am far from being a doctor and cannot answer all the questions (when I say this, it always sounds as if I am brushing them off). Is there a way to politely tell them that there is a wall between my social life and my work?

- N.D.

Male or female, many professionals seem to be questions about things, especially if it would cost a great deal to see them in their office. As most of the things you imply they ask sound minor and trivial, however, I would recommend replying with something along the lines of "Oh, how unfortunate. If it's still bothering you in a few days, you should book an appointment." It is not a brush-off of their troubles, merely the advice that it is not serious. If it is a real problem, they will bite the bullet and see their doctor. Either way, they will stop bothering you.

elsewhere in London:

"I feel bad bothering him at home," murmured Emily Francis, knocking on the door of the Holmes house. "I know he's going to some ball tonight, but if we leave this..."

"Calm down, Francis, he never minds," Dante sighed with an overly dramatic roll of his eyes. "Not when it's important."

"I know, but Janii should have remembered to..." The door opened. Her words stopped. Her breath stopped. She was fairly sure that her heart stopped.

Standing in the doorway was an angel in a golden ball gown. Her golden ringlets were almost loose, held half-heartedly by an ivory comb. The dress dipped just so in the neck that half her pale shoulders were exposed. For a split second she was still, lips slightly parted, lightly painted eyelids just lifting.

"Oh, Emily!" exclaimed Ann Marie with a welcoming smile. "Please, tell me I don't look like a harlot in this. I feel like one."

A thick blush began to appear across the girl's face, and her mouth moved up and down several times but no sound emerged.

"You look wonderful, Madame Holmes," butted in the Frenchman with a faked smile she did not notice, all but pushing his co-worker aside. "Is your husband in? We hate to intrude, but could he sign these? It's just that we need this warrant tonight..."

"He's still dressing, but I'll bring them to him and be right back," the girl smiled, taking the papers and making her way up the ways with the grace of a dancer within a music box.

Emily leaned her head against the side of the doorframe, closing her eyes. "Oh, Christ, my system did not need that. I think I'm going to hyperventilate. Who the hell answers the door looking like that?"

"If you're going to die, please fall that way. I have a bad back. And Madame Holmes does, apparently. Emphasis on Madame. As in our employer's wife."

She had thought that those feelings of breathlessness around her would cease once puberty settled. Her plan had been to avoid her after graduation; that did not go as planned. "I know, Dante. In my defence, I was this bad before they were married. Worse, actually. Dear god, after about five years of combing for any signs of... anything, you'd think that little hormone indicator in my brain would mark her as off limits." She heard movement from within and quickly took off her glasses, pretending to polish them with her glove.

"Here you go. I swear I almost had to hold him back from coming down here, he's digging for any chance to get out of this... Just so you know, the ball's a bit out of the way so we'll be at a hotel for the night but back this morning if you need to contact us. I believe Dr. Janii has the number of the hotel?"

"He does, Madame. Give your husband our best." Both employees turned, heading back towards Whitehall on foot.

Emily slipped her glasses back on, taking deep breaths and cursing both her asthma and the condition that Oscar Wilde made look fun from a distance. There were times when she wished she had neither, but she knew neither could ever be cured or outgrown. "I'm over her, Dante, I really am. I know that she's... God, Dante, she's happy with him, as impossible as that sounds. I don't care if they're in love, he treats her so well. And I'd never be good enough for her in a thousand years but...It hurts you in a very... primitive way when you want something so badly and knowing you can't have it makes you want it more."

Dante shook a cigarette out from his pocket, lighting his match with his thumbnail and touching it to the end of the taper. "I have a feeling I know what you speak of."

She wrinkled her nose as the smoke began to wisp out. "Do you have to smoke that here?"

"Oui. I am French, Francis. We need tobacco or we perish."

"In that case, I'll head home before I really do take an attack and let you and Janii play bureaucratic cowboys tonight. You don't need a physicist in an interrogation." She broke away from him and headed for her own flat without so much as a goodbye.

When Dante reached Whitehall, he went up to the top office, sat down, and hammered his head quite solidly into his desk, cigarette still dangling though it was burning dangerously close to his lips.

Janii raised an eyebrow. "Did you tell her?"

Silence.

"Look, Dante, I told you she wouldn't be interested. It's not personal, it's just the way some people are. I thought the French understood that better than us. You've defended others, you're always going on and on about women's rights."

"I didn't tell her, it would only make things awkward. And I know. I know... It's just different when it gets into your own life."

The man rested a rare hand of friendship on his shoulder. Very briefly. "Would it make you feel better to rough up an English conspirator? His file says he's hit a lot of women. Mr. Holmes's signature gives us permission to do all short of kill him.

The cigarette was beginning to hurt. He removed what was left, stamping it into the ashtray with a small smile. "Yeah. Yeah, that could help."

They both rose and left to play bureaucratic cowboys.