smallhobbit

“Ah, Mrs Hudson,” Holmes came out of his room, clearly hoping to be placatory. “There’s no need to be angry.”

Now, anyone in their right mind would know that this was not the best way to address an irate landlady. It did briefly cross my mind that Holmes might be suffering from concussion, but then he was never very tactful in his dealings with the good lady.

“This is my mixing bowl.”

“Indeed it is.”

“Then why does it have tadpoles in it? Are you expecting me to make soup out of them?”

I could see Holmes was considering making a clever reply, but fortunately thought better of it.

“I was intending returning them to the park.”

“Then I suggest you go now.”

“After a cup of tea.”

“Now!”

Somewhat reluctantly he put on his coat and departed carrying the bowl.

As soon as he had gone, Mrs Hudson said, “Shall I bring your tea up now, Doctor?”

“Yes, please. That would be very kind of you.”

Readers may feel I was less than sympathetic with Holmes, but I had my reasons. We had been out earlier, and in the course of Holmes’ investigation, I had ended up with my feet in a pond. On our return to Baker Street, as I was removing my sodden boots, Holmes had proceeded to lecture me on what I should have done to avoid being in this predicament.

I was cold and wet, and his comments put a spark to my anger. Without paying much attention, I flung one of my boots at him, and caught him a glancing blow on the head. I was about to apologise when I looked inside my other boot and spotted the tadpoles. I yelled at him that as I didn’t want them to die through no fault of their own, he had better get a bowl and take them to a pond nearby.

It was a while later when Holmes returned. He presented me with a bottle of whisky and nothing more was said of the incident. And since Mrs Hudson brought our dinner up at the normal time, I presume he had also given her a bottle of gin.