She was a singular flower, standing out among the dull English garden surrounding her. It wasn't her exotic features that caught the eye, for there were several of foreign birth in this crowd. No, it was instead her bearing, so full of confidence and wit that her twinkling eyes shone across the room.
I felt compelled to cross that distance to speak with her myself, but due to the fact that I was on a case (not to mention in disguise); I did not have such a luxury.
My companion caught my gaze and grinned. "My dear Mr. Holmes!" she crowed in a hushed tone, her own voice deepened to enhance her own disguise. "Do I spy some fancy in your eyes?"
"My dear Mr. Adler," I drawled back, giving her a withering look to tell her to remain in role. "I do not know of what you speak of."
She gave me a last smirk and a wink before turning back to surveying the crowd for our villain. I admit to giving the unique lady one last regretful look, before my eyes were accompanied by the search.
Watson glared at Holmes after reading the paper. "That is not how I write," he huffed indignantly.
Holmes merely raised an eyebrow in reply.
"She was a singular flower," Watson quoted, continuing. "More like this is singularly flower writing! And I don't believe any such thing happened during your 'death'." At this last statement he tried to read his friend. Holmes, of course, remained as neutral as ever.
Finally Watson crumpled the paper and tossed it over with the pile of yesterday's newspapers. Holmes gave him a mild smile as he passed over a cigarette. Watson gave him a final glare before accepting.
"I do not write like that!" He proclaimed one last time before lighting first his own, and then Holmes' cigarettes.
Holmes once more merely raised an eyebrow, but remained tactfully silent.