Not in the sweetest of tempers as a result of an early summer thunderstorm waking me one morning in 1894, I found Holmes sprawled in the chair in which I had left him last night. He growled at me and returned to his before-breakfast pipe as I moved round my packing-cases toward the table.
I poured myself a cup of coffee and removed the lid of the sugar-bowl to retrieve my standard two lumps.
Sherlock Holmes jumped, flinging his pipe across the room when I yelped and shot my chair back from the table.
"What the devil!" I peered cautiously into the bowl.
"I forgot…" muttered he, snatching it from me and taking it to his chemical table. "My apologies, Watson."
I pinched my forehead, remembering what an adventure living in this house was. "Holmes…"
"Well it might be poisonous, Doctor; I had to keep it somewhere!"
"Poisonous!? And you put that – creature – in our sugar-bowl?!"
"I suppose you have a better suggestion of where to put the thing?" he growled crossly, folding his arms.
As a matter of fact, I did; but as it was slightly rude, I shall not here record my response nor his even less sophisticated one.
Another reason why the world shall never be told the repulsive story of the red leech (in our sugar bowl).