One rainy evening Mary and I were preparing for dinner, when I answered a knock to find a drenched consulting detective fidgeting nervously on my stoop.
"My dear Holmes!" I exclaimed. "Whatever are you doing here? Is it a case?"
"Erm…not exactly, no," he muttered, dolefully wringing out his hat and looking dubiously at my wife, who was politely refraining from laughing at his bedraggled appearance. "Good evening, Mrs. Watson."
"Good evening, Mr. Holmes," said she, smiling. "Do hang up your coat. I'll just tell Jenny to lay another plate. John, don't let him stand there dripping all over the hall; take him in your study."
"My wallet got snatched by a street urchin," Holmes mumbled as I showed him to the fire. "I've no change, already walked half a mile in this, Mrs. Hudson's visiting a niece, so I'm fending for myself for meals…I do hate imposing upon your family…"
I smiled, clapping him wetly on the shoulder. "My dear fellow, you're the closest thing to family that either of us has, remember? I only wish you'd 'impose' more often."
He pulled a face but soon relaxed in the fire's warmth. After a moment he shot me a sidelong glance, to which I raised a questioning eyebrow.
"D'you suppose while I'm here, your wife could sew on this missing button?"