Hey, congratulations on selling your Kensington practice, Holmes said to his friend, who now had a lot more free time to hang out at Holmes's flat. Dr. Werner will not let it fall to ruin.

Dr. Watson sat back, puffing his pipe. He should hope not. Wait, he never told Holmes Dr. Werner

bought his practice. Detective, I detective things, Watson.I would think that after all these years, you might have caught up.

"'I'm Sherlock Holmes, and I'm—Sherlock, please stop.

"'I'm only going to ask you this once.

"'Did you have anything to do with me selling my practice,

"'so we would have more time to hang out?' "'Just then the bell rang. Oh, sweaty, but not exercise sweaty.

The, I've just discovered that I'm wanted for murder on my train ride into London type of sweaty.

He had loosened his tie and he was pacing Sherlock's flat, nearly hyperventilating.

Have a cigarette, Mr. McFarlane, Sherlock offered.

I'm sure that, with your symptoms, my friend Dr. Watson here would prescribe a sedative.

Stop asking me to do that. Dr. Watson frowed his prodigious brow for as great a detective

as he was. Sherlock still hadn't

deduced the location of Watson's old prescription pads. Watson, knowing how good a detective

Sherlock was, had burned them weeks ago. Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned back to the pacing

McFarlane. You mentioned your name as if I should recognize you, but I assure you that,

beyond the obvious facts that you are a bachelor, a solicitor, a Freemason, and an asthmatic,

I know nothing whatsoever about you. McFarlane gasped. How did Mr. Holmes know?

Watson shook his head, noting the man's untidy attire, bachelor, the chief of legal

papers, solicitor, the watch charm, Mason, and the breathing that he had taught Sherlock to spot,

asthmatic. Watson looked up from his paper and brief horror that, in an instant, he had deduced the same things as Sherlock.

No, he could have those same abilities and not be a jerk.

...