"As long as I have my trousers, I have my hip-pocket, and as long as I have my hip-pocket, I have something in it." – a curious quote by Lestrade…
Holmes didn't, in reality, mind my writing about his cases. In fact, occasionally he asked me to publish, much to my surprise. Usually, it was to publicise something specific, such as when I penned the case involving Professor Presbury, or even when I wrote about what at the time I had considered to be Holmes' last case. But rarely did he ask me to write about one. He just knew I did it and took for granted that I always did it.
Once I was assaulted for my pocketbook, as it had contained some detailed accounts of our case [it was ours- Holmes had said as much]. I was knocked down and my coat was stripped off me. Of course Holmes sprinted after the men who did it, and endeavoured to display some of his history as a champion boxer, and of course he was a bit too old and thin to debase two thirty-somethings.
I dusted myself off, having got back to consciousness, and stood up to see Holmes curled up in a ball, clutching my coat with two men kicking him. I'll admit that one had a nosebleed, and the other was dirty from the floor, but it still wasn't an encouraging sight. I took out my revolver and cocked it. The men turned and paused in beating my skinny friend to a pulp.
I cleared my throat threateningly. "In my jacket, I have my breast pocket, and in my breast pocket, I have something close to my heart, which is the thing I am most likely to reach for. I don't have my jacket right now. The only pockets I have now are my hip-pockets, which are closer to something else, something that makes me less good-natured on occasion. Coincidentally, in my hip-pocket, I keep my gun. It's probably a bad idea, isn't it?" Holmes laughed, and one man turned to kick him again. I shot into the air next to his assailant, which had the desired effect of making them both flee.