SMASH!
"Uh-oh."
This descriptive vociferation was followed by a string of assorted oaths that I assumed Holmes had picked up in his work among the lower of the criminal classes.
I did not look up from my writing. Not even when I heard various clinks and tinklings that indicated something had smashed indeed, into multiple pieces. The growls that punctuated these sounds seemed to bear out that theory.
"Watson."
I continued writing, chewing thoughtfully on the end of my pencil, searching for just the correct word…
"Watson?"
I had grown very accustomed over the years to working despite all odd noises and background chatter – one had to when living with Sherlock Holmes – and in consequence found it rather easy to ignore his blathering.
That is, until he bellowed loud enough to be heard on the Baker Street Underground.
"WATSON!"
I jumped, the pencil flying from my startled hand, and finally looked up at Sherlock Holmes, who was in front of his chemical table looking down at a gooey red mess that was slowly dripping onto the rug.
"What the devil –"
"Easy, Watson, it'll eat a hole in your shoes! Would you be so kind as to help me get it cleaned up before it starts destroying the carpet?"
"Holmes –"
"Well it wasn't my fault that those infernal test-tubes broke!"