the streets of London are dark, cold and raining as usual. People with umbrellas quickly run through the puddles, home, into the warmth. wood was quietly crackling in the fireplace, only tuning the strings on the violin and turning the pages broke the silence, a quiet and pleasant evening. suddenly the phone rang, I answered, putting the book on the chair and went into the corridor and went out to meet someone. Sherlock's sharp gaze followed me, radiating coldness and a little curiosity.

5 minutes later I returned and took my original place on the chair with a book as if nothing had happened. His gaze burned right through me, as if trying to unravel the mystery, as is typical. And finally Holmes' voice broke the pleasant silence

" - and where did you go?"