This is a double-221B in honour of my six-month anniversary today of being a member here. Dedicated to all you wonderful people who've given me a kind welcome and even kinder support and reviews. Thank you all!
Sherlock Holmes was nervous.
When ill-at-ease, he would obsessively fidget with everything unfortunate enough to be within reach of his groping fingers.
Fifteen minutes into the meal, his silverware was dulled with fingerprints and somehow his water-glass ended up by my soup-plate.
When he re-fastened his cuff-links for the fifth time, I finally laid my fork down and waited patiently.
"What, Doctor?" he demanded, drinking nervously.
"I'm curious as to why you took me to dinner just to tell me something, when it would have been as easy to do it in Baker Street," I said, and was gratified to see him start at my deduction.
"Mrs. Hudson was making cabbage soup, you know I hate it."
"But that's not the reason. Now what is it?"
"Do you know what today is?"
"Friday."
"You know what I mean!"
I grinned. "Holmes, somehow I don't think your sentiment is so great that you treated me to an expensive dinner just for the sake of an anniversary. What's the real reason you wanted to talk to me?"
His pale face flushed uncomfortably. "It's been a year."
"Yes, it has."
"We agreed on six months at the outset, and then when that was up we decided to try six more," he said nervously, fidgeting with his napkin ring.
My appetite suddenly gone, I met his gaze with no little trepidation.
"You're wanting to part ways then?"
"No!" The word was blurted from his mouth before he could stop himself, and he blushed a deep red. An instant later he had reverted to his cold, clear self.
"Not at all, Doctor, unless you wish it."
"I don't," I said slowly, "but when my pension decreases I shan't be able to keep up my half of the rent."
It was my turn to blush, for I had been trying hard to save wherever I could – tonight was the first time in over a month I'd eaten outside of Baker Street.
"That's what I wished to speak to you about."
I winced, dropping my gaze.
"I have a proposition for you, Watson."
"Yes?"
"My case fees are ample to pay the rent. If you continue to assist me, I believe that would be a fair trade, would it not?"
I glanced up in surprise, but he was apparently absolutely serious.
"Well, I –"
"Hah! That's settled then."
He clapped his hands in apparent glee, and the napkin-ring he'd been fidgeting with flew off the table and rolled under the feet of a rather overweight busboy, who screamed and dropped a tray of silverware.
"As a new full partner, am I now allowed to laugh when you're responsible for causing bedlam?"