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"There are hundreds - thousands! - of orphans in the city!" Holmes shouted, nearly wailed to be precise, as he turned on Watson. "Why has she decided to domesticate mine?"
Watson glanced up from his medical journal. "They aren't your orphans, Holmes, they're orphans. If they were yours, they would not be orphans, would they?"
With a glare, Holmes snatched up his violin and set about making the worst racket he possibly could out of pure spite. It was only when Gladstone pretended to be dead on his own volition that the violin was put away.
Watson glanced up from his medical journal. "They aren't your orphans, Holmes, they're orphans. If they were yours, they would not be orphans, would they?"
With a glare, Holmes snatched up his violin and set about making the worst racket he possibly could out of pure spite. It was only when Gladstone pretended to be dead on his own volition that the violin was put away.