Continuation of the last...
"Why could you not have been the woman and I the husband?" I whined.
"Because in those boots I'd have been six-foot-six! Now look, like this."
"And how do you know exactly how a woman walks, Holmes? I thought you didn't even like them?"
He scowled. "I never said I didn't like them, Watson, I said I never wanted to marry one! And if I did, it wouldn't be one with an Army regulation mustache, by the way!"
"That's probably the only kind that would be desperate enough to take you!"
He was not amused.
After an hour, he moved on to the next part of the farce, which I was not at all happy about.
I backed away as he advanced, but tripped on my hem and made a crash landing on the floor in a shwissssh of petticoats.
"Don't you dare!"
"Watson, it's a necessary part of the disguise!"
"Holmes. In the last fifteen years, I have been shot, stabbed, beaten almost to death in the streets, trapped in burning buildings, and contracted deadly diseases – all for the sake of one of your cases and for you. But I am not, and I repeat, not, going to put my head on your shoulder and allow you to put your hand on my hip and twirl me across a ballroom!"