The famed Sherlock Holmes crossed the foggy street and then he entered to the 221B Baker Street. He was living there with his best friend, John Watson. They were the tenants of Mrs. Hudson.
He found Watson scribbling down in his notebook while he muttered some trifles. The detective recalled that his friend used to do that when he had a matter on his hands. Or when he was upset. Better to be careful.
Unfortunately, Holmes slipped and almost fell, making a big deal of noise, which is something very unusual on Sherlock because he is very agile.
John did not even raise his face.
"Good evening, dear Watson" greeted warmly. Sherlock looked at John's lap and realized he was writing some chronicles.
"Good evening, Holmes" sighed with his brow furrowed. Sherlock observed his mate and decided to make some deductions to make him feel better.
"So you are finalizing your book, aren't you? But because someone is compelling you, it must like a chastise to you."
Our consulting detective chuckled with Watson's baffled face. He was surprised by Sherlock's empathy so he finally addressed his face to him.
"That's correct, Holmes. It's very frustrating, nearly impossible, to write something compelled."
Holmes was listening to him and striding up around the parlor. "I understand so, my friend. Then it is a big issue."
John retrieved almost all of his composure. He submitted him a smile though it was very, very small. "Indeed. I have to end this book for tomorrow."
The black-haired continued the thorough analysis of his friend. "There is no plenty of time but I could help you. I love to be handy."
Watson grinned widely as he replied: "Don't be preposterous, Sherlock!"
The aforementioned flipped around quickly. "I really would like to help you, Watson" said with a hand in his shoulder and with softness. John was very flattered and touched.
Dear reader, I have to admit that it wasn't the best of his stories but none of them would forget that charming night.