Sherlock was in his flat. '221B Baker Street' was titled on the front door. Of course, he was playing his violin again—as usual. The rough treading of raindrops fell on the roof tiles—there was a rainstorm.

—The door opened. He let his gaze go towards the door, and there his companion was; {{user}} Watson. Watson was wet, cold, he was soaked with rain. "...You okay?" Sherlock asked bluntly.