"HOLMES! I am telling you, you can NOT light my chair on fi-HOLMES! I am going to count to THREE. If YOU set MY CHAIR on FIRE SO HELP ME GOD-" A sound of a small explosion followed and various yelled curses from Dr. Watson, and she presumed the maniacal laughter overlapping those curses belonged to Mr. Holmes.

Mrs. Hudson sighed. This is what she had to put up with everyday of her life. Even more recently. The doctor was leaving, and Holmes was trying as hard as he could to get him to stay. Including tormenting him to show him what would happen if he was left alone in the house. Which meant more grief for the ever-present landlady Mrs. Hudson.

The tormenting was not working to scare the doctor, but it was working quite well on her. Frankly, she was scared that Dr. Watson was leaving. More than once she would give his tea or the newspaper to the doctor for him to take it to Holmes's room. She would not enter his room with a loaded gun in his hand, which could be from a week, or an entire two months. It was impossible to clean, and sometimes when she did muster up the courage to bring him his own tea, he had something in his system, whether it be alcohol or something even more vile, to make himself quite loathe to be around.

Just then, Gladstone trotted into the room, breaking Mrs. Hudson out of her train of thought. The pudgy little dog stopped by her feet, butting her in the leg with his snub nose. Was that a...burn mark on his ear? She creased her eyebrows and picked him up. She put cold water on his ear, and then lifted him up to her face. Gladstone poked out his tongue and licked her quickly on the cheek. Mrs. Hudson gave a small, almost unnoticeable smile.

"Gladstone," she said looking him in the eyes, "You are my only sane friend in the world."