I went out and showed off my new threads to the guys. Of course, Holmes was quick to spot the lack of corset, which earned him a verbal slap upside the head from the Doc. "Hey, give him a break, Doc, he's just doing his job," I defended, curling up on the sitting room couch. "Speaking of which, Mr Holmes: how did you know all that stuff about me? Yeah, I know you observed; but what gave it away, apart from the wedding ring, I mean?"

Holmes took a deep breath. "Your confidence around males suggests that you are unused to any kind of domestic violence, besides having no physical marks, save the occasional minor scrape and several bone spurs; that would rather indicate carelessness and a tendency to daydream. Blonde is not your natural hair colour, your eyebrows are much too dark; but you are not the kind of female who flaunts her physical attributes, therefore your husband chose the colour of the dye. A husband who cares more about his wife's appearance than she does cannot help but make her happy.

You fought with commendable skill and tactics when cornered, and you knew not to look back when being pursued. Your husband clearly encounters criminals on a regular basis. You do not have the physical attributes notable to women who have borne children, I am sure I need not elaborate... also, you display no maternal mannerisms.

Your fingertips are flattened, although not stained with ink, therefore you do all of your writing on a typewriter. Either a journalist or a novelist, but your speech is coarse and undignified, most unsuitable for a mouthpiece of the public. Your movements are graceful, but your knees are stiffer than they should be for a woman of thirty, you no longer have the physical fitness required for dancing, doubtless because of that very activity. The sweets were, I confess, a cheap victory – what female does not have a weakness for such things?"

I leaned back on the couch and laughed. "And the seamstress part? Hang on, lemme guess, you saw the pin and needle marks on my fingers."

"Partially correct, madam. I also noted the makeshift clothing you had constructed with nothing more than several towels and a razor. Then too, you had fibres lodged in your teeth from where you had bitten off several loose threads, and you rolled the severed threads into a ball, both are tricks used predominantly by tailors and the like. You have also been unconsciously studying the clothing worn by those around you since you awoke."

"Okay… permission to be gobsmacked, sir," I grinned, shaking my head in wonder. "I'm impressed, Mr Holmes, you got nearly everything right!"

"What, nearly?" the Doc piped up. "You're losing your touch, old chap!"

Holmes glowered at him, then glanced at me, mind clearly racing. I held out a few seconds longer before taking pity on him. "You were right about Craig having a job chasing crooks, but he's a security guard, not a cop. You weren't to know; it's pretty much the same job description, anyway, minus the gun."

Holmes nodded, grudgingly.

"So, what now? Check the bathroom for clues?"

"I had already examined the bathroom minutely before you awoke, madam, and found no evidence as to how you might have arrived there."

"But you hadn't heard my story yet, right? Maybe there's something you missed 'cause you weren't looking for anything paranormal or whatever. Hey, no offence! You said yourself you're no expert on that kind of thing."

"She does have a point, Holmes," the Doc agreed. "Perhaps…"

But we never did learn if there was anything weird left in the bathroom, cause that's when the doorbell rang.