Mr Holmes & Doctor Watson

'A long shot, Watson; a very long shot,' said he, pinching my arm.

I felt Holmes' hand steal into mine.

My dear fellow.

My dear boy.

'Lie down there on the sofa, and see if i can put you to sleep.' He took up his violin from the corner, and as I stretched myself out he began to play some low, dreamy, melodious air,–his own, no doubt, for he had a remarkable gift for improvisation.

My dear Holmes.

My Watson.

The best and the wisest man whom I have ever known.

Not a bit, Doctor. Stay where you are. I am lost without my Boswell.

You’ll come with me to-night? When you like and where you like. This is, indeed, like the old days.

For two hours we rambled about together, in silence for the most part, as befits two men who know each other intimately.

This is my intimate friend and associate, Dr Watson.

My dear Watson, you were born to be a man of action.

By the Lord, it is as well for you. If you had killed Watson, you would not have got out of this room alive.

My dear fellow.

I gripped him by the arms. (...) Again, I gripped him by the sleeve, and felt the thin, sinewy arm beneath it.

I had no keener pleasure than in following Holmes in his professional investigations, and in admiring the rapid deductions, as swift as intuitions, and yet always founded on a logical basis, with which he unravellled the problems which were submitted to him.

I have the advantage of knowing your habits, my dear Watson.

And believe me to be, my dear fellow, Very sincerely yours, Sherlock Holmes

It was worth a wound – it was worth many wounds – to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask.