Metal clattered guiltily floor-ward as the door slammed open, and Holmes's sleep-blurred eyes glared at the scene. "What are you doing with my burglaring tools?"
"Nothing…"
"Were you actually trying to break into my desk?" Holmes appeared more incredulous than angry, for he had done it himself upon occasion.
"Erm…of course not!"
"Prevaricating doesn't become you, Watson. If you wanted your cheque-book so, you could simply have asked me to get it for you."
Holmes lit his pipe, and the room sharpened. Watson standing guiltily by the desk, no coffee on the table yet!, and a revolting piney scent emanating from the door wreath.
"Gambling so close to the holidays is not the wisest financial action, Doctor," Holmes observed snidely. "May I remind you of the reason for that cheque-book's location?"
The doctor's face flushed an angry crimson. "I've no intention of doing anything of the kind!"
"I see no other reason to be so covert in retrieving the source of your finance."
"You wouldn't!"
"Eh?"
"Do you suppose I carry enough cash to purchase a proper Christmas gift for anyone, even you…especially you?"
The detective accidentally inhaled instead of exhaled a cloud of smoke, sputtering into a hoarse coughing fit. Watson ignored him with an uncharacteristic lack of concern.
Holmes's eyes cleared in time to see the sitting-room door bang.
*wince* Will be continued; rather hard to fit conflict and resolution into only 221 words.