Earlier that day, Holmes had just finished up the case of Baron Tundra, who suffered from both cyanosis and an abscess—if ever I commit the tale to paper, I shall call it ‘The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle.’ Later that evening, we sat down to dinner with his brother Mycroft, at a local grand restaurant, Mycroft having agreed to leave the Diogenes Club, where conversation was disallowed. The two brothers began by catching up each other in the recent events in their lives, in their own unique way.
“I see you’ve lost weight, Mycroft, half a stone, give or take a few dozen grams. Sticking to watercress sandwiches and water at lunch has done wonders for you.”
“On the subject of abstinence,” Mycroft replied, “I observe that the Persian slipper you keep over the fireplace developed a hole, and you lost your tobacco, and you do not expect another shipment to your supplier for three more days.”
“Since you have mentioned a fireplace, my condolences over the temporary loss of your domicile, due to the damage caused by the carelessness of the left-handed bank vice-president who occupied the flat above you. I surmise the conflagration took place in his front room, specifically from a Turkish cigarette. As a result, you have had to seek temporary quarters in Kensington, and must now hire a hansom for your daily excursions to the Diogenes club. Deciding to disembark two blocks before your destination for the added exercise has benefited your weight loss—and I assume the horses appreciate it as well.”