"Did you speak with Mrs. Donnely?"
"No, Holmes."
"What?" the detective demanded, furious. "Watson, her evidence is crucial –"
Watson raised his eyebrows. "Holmes, her son was just murdered. The poor lady can hardly be in any state to talk."
Holmes stood there for a moment, processing this new idea of human empathy. It was one that had always escaped him. Then, slowly, he smiled. "If I am the brains," he said, in the brittle, crisp tones that characterized his real compliments, "then you, Watson, are the heart of the agency."
Watson was always well aware that it was true.
