"I sometimes wonder," John Watson mused, "why he said footprints."
Sherlock Holmes took the bait, opening his eyes and taking in the scene in front of him. It was a game they sometimes played: Watson would make a comment and force Holmes to deduce what he was talking about. It was born out of the times when Holmes would deduce Watson's thoughts from minute details, thoroughly surprising him with his conclusions. Watson had begun speaking his thoughts aloud with no preamble, therefore, making Holmes form deductions to pick up the conversation and see if he could continue it. It was a game Holmes rarely lost, nor was he about to.
Watson was holding a copy of his own story, The Hound of the Baskervilles, and there were only a few places footprints had come into the story. Of those times, there was only one wherein 'footprints,' would not have been the best descriptor for an imprint of a foot left in the ground.
Holmes smirked, gazing at Watson lazily. "Mr. Holmes," he said, micking the excitable, nervous, almost frantic visitor from that day, "they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!"
Watson smirked back. "Oh, Mr. Holmes! What a beautiful skull you have! You're quite the second best at solving problems!"
Holmes couldn't help it, a bark of laughter escaping his lips. Watson began to chuckle, too, and soon both of them dissolved like schoolboys into laughter.
"Ah, well," Holmes said, wiping his eyes, "at least our dramatic friend made for a wonderful opening for the story, no routinization from Watson necessary."
"And it worked to peak your own interest," Watson said with a smile. "You must admit, had he simply said, 'my friend was found dead and there were pawprints near the body,' there would not have been much to commend the case to your mind, and it has, in my own opinion, been one of your most impactful cases."
"Well well, here's to strange visitors, then," Holmes said. He raised his glass, and, as if it was fate, there came a knock on the living room door.
"Mr. Holmes! Mr. Holmes!" came a muffled cry, "you must help me!"
Holmes and Watson exchange a glance, then a grin. The truth, it seemed, really was stranger than fiction, and the game once more was on.
For the prompt from Stutley Constable: Footprints.