"It would seem almost sacrilegious for someone else to live here…but I'll wager the neighbours will be glad of the improvement." He grinned mischievously.
I snorted a laugh. "No doubt. Probably one of your infatuated readers will inhabit the place."
He looked pensively round the familiar, but rather empty, room. "The new owner should make it into a museum."
"Don't be ridiculous. Who in the world would want to –"
"I would," he muttered sadly.
I slowly laid a hand on his shoulder. "Cheer up, old man. If they do, you could always volunteer as a tour guide."
I was pleased to receive a low laugh. "And over here, ladies and gentlemen, is the window Mr. Holmes shattered when he hurled a brass candlestick at the murderer of Lord Brookridge in July 1894…"
I winced at the recollection. "I believe Mrs. Hudson threatened to evict me a dozen times in those following ten weeks."
"Mmhm. You came back with a record-breaking summer. Ever the melodramatic performer, eh?"
"Then you understand the importance of exiting the stage before applause has ended," I inquired quietly.
"Take your final bow, Mr. Holmes," said he with a mirroring smile, indicating the empty room.
"It is a shame, really," I mused affectionately.
"What is?"
"That your ridiculous unselfishness always gave me, not us, the top billing."