Holmes picks up the tintype of the two of them. It was a present, at the conclusion of the Drebber murder. It is seven years old, and its glass is clouded.
Something old.
His fingers brush the edge of his stiff waistcoat – bought for the wedding. The best man mustn't look shabby.
Something new.
It was only for a while, after all. He'd been lent comfort and joy that didn't belong to him.
Something borrowed.
He sighs as he smoothes his tie in the mirror. Oh, he's very happy for his friend. He's only melancholy, that's all.
Something blue.