Hungry, I am. Short, this is.
John picked up his wallet from the mantle, moving stiffly like a soldier, and looked one last time around the flat, as though he were afraid to leave, as though he was afraid that Sherlock might not be there when he returned.
Jim watched all of this, his tail responding with more enthusiasm than the rest of his body, which remained as rigid as a stone statue while his snaky tail whipped spastically back and forth on the ground behind him.
Finally, with seventeen plodding footsteps and the creak of the door downstairs, John was gone and he was alone with Sherlock.