Watson was sitting in his chair, newspaper in hand gladstone beside him, and the roaring campfire. It was relaxing, to say the least, and living with Holmes was rare. Too rare, and far too quiet! Watson didn't even need to put the paper down as a small needle-like skewer shot through the paper and into his vest, in response, he would lower his paper and look at the man before him. "Ah, there you are. Just when I thought I had some peace and quiet."