"I really have some scruples about taking you tonight."
"Can I be of assistance?"
"Your presence might be invaluable."
"Then I shall certainly come."
Those five words, and that was all. For a romantic imaginer as I so often tease him about being, my dear Watson is sometimes startlingly matter-of-fact and pointed, uttering this as if it were a given that he would follow me.
The sensation of having someone at my side who actually thought much not only of my abilities but of me was still, even after two years, rather new to me. I was more used to scoffing remarks from arrogant Yarders than I was praise and admiration from the only person who ever tolerated me long enough to become a friend.
And I would freely admit, when we were creeping along that grassy path and that infernal baboon came cavorting out of the trees to scare us both half to death, I was more than just a little glad that he was there.
Also when we entered Roylott's room after the tragedy – I should never have had the nerve to get that adder back into the safe had Watson not been there, warily following its movements with his sharp gun eye.
Who would have thought that in two years he could so successfully melt my icy barriers?