It had been raining for some days, not continually, but sufficiently to ensure there were puddles everywhere one went. I did my best to avoid them whenever possible, but visiting some of my patients who lived in the poorer parts of the city, where drainage was seldom maintained, it was often difficult to avoid them entirely. I was fortunate to be frequently recognised and guided to the drier spots so I could avoid the deepest puddles. It wasn’t the case with some who were less welcome visitors, who often found themselves getting unpleasantly wet.

Holmes, as might be expected, took little notice of the state of the pavements, either because he was so engrossed in a puzzle he failed to notice a puddle, or he was in too much of a hurry to avoid them. The result being that he would return to Baker Street with sodden footwear, which he would tramp up to 221B, causing puddles to form on the stairs.

As can be imagined, Mrs Hudson did not take kindly to this behaviour. One morning, when Holmes had just returned from a third outing, she positioned Esme, the housemaid outside the door to our rooms, holding a mop. When Holmes emerged intent on yet another excursion outside, I heard her say, “Mrs Hudson’s compliments, Mr Holmes, could you mop the stairs on your way down?”

When I looked up from my armchair, I caught sight of Esme departing downstairs and Holmes holding the mop with a rather bemused expression on his face.