I Do Hate The City

Sherlock Holmes Took His Bottle From The Corner Of The Mantel-piece, And His Hypodermic Syringe From Its Neat Morocco Case. With His Long, White, Nervous Fingers He Adjusted The Delicate Needle, And Rolled Back His Left Shirt-cuff. For Some Little Time His Eyes Rested Thoughtfully Upon The Sinewy Forearm And Wrist, All Dotted And Scarred With Innumerable Puncture-marks. Finally, He Thrust The Sharp Point Home, Pressed Down The Tiny Piston, And Sank Back Into The Velvet-lined Armchair With A Long Sigh Of Satisfaction.

The Most Difficult Crime To Track Is The One Which Is Purposeless.

To That Providence, My Sons, I Hereby Commend You, And I Counsel You By Way Of Caution To Forbear From Crossing The Moor In Those Dark Hours When The Powers Of Evil Are Exalted.

It Is A Fool's Plan To Teach A Man To Be A Cur In Peace, And Think That He Will Be A Lion In War.

Only That I Insist Upon Your Dining With Us. It Will Be Ready In Half An Hour. I Have Oysters And A Brace Of Grouse, With Something A Little Choice In White Wines. Watson, You Have Never Yet Recognized My Merits As A Housekeeper. ~ Sherlock Holmes