A double 221B (containing a semi-private joke), in honour of my writing partner's return from abroad. Welcome back, PGF!
I jumped out of the cab with a contented sigh – after four weeks abroad on that infernally annoying case, it was quite grand to be home again. Even if London skies were pouring a veritable hurricane, the sight still was a welcome one after the dry heat of the Middle East.
However, the cabbie was not at all happy that I was standing on the pavement, looking up at our rooms with a ridiculously childish grin, instead of paying him.
After rectifying that error, I proceeded to enter. The hall was dark but the fire was lit in the sitting room – Watson obviously was still up. I tiptoed up-stairs and peeked in.
He was standing by the table with his back to me, flipping through one of my files. My mischievous streak came to the fore and I noiselessly crept up behind him, shoving the end of my walking stick into his back.
"Oll roight, gov, raise yer 'ands, nice an' easy," I growled in a falsely-accented voice.
Unfortunately, Watson's years in my company had been too beneficial to his self-defensive tendencies. As it was, he nearly broke my wrist when he threw me against the wall.
I was still shaking stars out of my vision when I heard his exclamation of surprise, mingled with worry.
"Bravo, my dear Watson," I said dryly, rubbing my head.
"What the devil were you thinking, coming up behind a chap like that?!"
"Yes, I am glad to see you too," I muttered, accepting the hand he held out to me.
"Are you all right?"
"I suppose, no thanks to your over-hasty wrestling."
"How was I to know it was an idiotic detective behind me and not a vengeance-seeking assassin?"
I endeavoured to remain irritated, but the situation was so absurd that within minutes I was laughing, and Watson along with me.
"How was the trip?"
"Hot."
He laughed, offering me a drink which I readily accepted. "Anything happen while I was gone?"
"A good deal. Four weeks is a frightfully long time."
I glanced up.
"You did get the postcards?"
"Right here," he replied, tapping the ever-present journal on his desk with a smile.
"Had a deucedly hard time finding a place to post them," I growled.
"Thank you."
I smiled despite myself at the simple words, and he sat across from me, all traces of sleep now vanished.
"So, what was it like?"
"Dry. And dull, too. Not worth the case, really."
"Pity."
"Fills the exchequer, Watson."
"I wish I could have gone with you."
"So do I, frankly. But –"
"But what?"
"You'd never have been able to stand the ubiquitous pita bread."