It was a tiny plaque, made out of silver, handsome and quite beautiful. The edges were neatly curved and little gold rims added.
It must have been quite expensive, it might have been small, but it was certainly heavy. But that was not what warmed my heart considerably or brought the moisture to my eyes.
On the plaque, exquisitely carved, out were the words:
To John Hamish Watson, from his friend Sherlock Holmes
For the best and wisest man that I have ever known.
Happy Birthday.