It was about 9 o'clock on a particularly cold April day, when Holmes bounded into the dining room, cursing, buttoning his shirt. After living with the man for six years, I was able to deduce that he was late.

"Are you breakfasting this morning, Holmes?"

Possibly. If at all possible." He was still in his bed clothes from his waist down, but instead of righting that disappeared into the bathroom. I heard the taps turn on full blast.

"Holmes, would you like me to butter some toast for you?" I called.

"Yes please!"

"Any jam? Marmalade?"

I heard gargling in answer.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Hemon Grr!"

"I'm sorry, what?" He spat into the sink.

"Lemon curd, if you would be so kind," he said wiping his face with a towel. He glanced at the clock and cursed again, and tossing the towel in the vague direction of the bathroom, he crossed into his bedroom.

I held back a laugh as I spread butter on his toast.

"Holmes?"

"Yes, Watson!"

"There isn't any lemon curd."

"Well, put something else on."

"What? Strawberry jam, plum jam, marmalade?" I was enjoying frustrating him.

"Surprise me!" he said, irritated at my domestic pestering.

He finally came through, groomed and dressed save his suit jacket and socks and shoes. He plopped into a chair and ate the marmalade toast I presented to him as fast as it is possible for a man to whilst chewing.

"Case?" I asked. He pointed at his mouth to gesture his mouth being full, eyes widening and eyebrows rising. There was a pause, and then he swallowed.

"Oh good Lord yes."

"Ah. That is good to know."

"I don't follow you, Watson."

"It doesn't matter." He frowned at me, pouring himself a tea, sloshing milk onto the table and cutting his lemon so roughly that the side he wasn't using for his tea flew off and landed next to my grapefruit bowl.

"Pardon me."

"Its fine, Holmes."

"Right, I'd better be off. I shall inform you of my activities later today."

He stood up and started for the door.

"Bare feet, Holmes."

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you."

"You have no shoes or socks, Holmes, and no matter how focused you are on the case, no matter how much it eclipses all other thoughts, cold feet will be distracting."

Holmes looked down his immaculately tailored suit, the sharp cut of his trousers and saw his white feet with those long (almost prehensile) toes poking out. He looked crossly at them, as if they ought to have dressed themselves. Then he glanced up at me.

"I was going to."

"Indeed."

He fetched his footwear and balanced on one leg whilst pulling on his socks and shiny shoes.

"Do I look like a Member of Parliament, Watson?"

"You didn't previously, but it is a very nice suit." Holmes ignored the first statement.

"And?"

"It looks like you spent too much money on the suit to care very much for the community."

"So you wouldn't vote for me."

"No."

"How superficial you are, Watson! But I do look like a bad MP, nevertheless?

"Oh, possibly."

"Good."

"Why?"

"Today, I am taking an uninvited trip to the House of Commons." He took out his pocket watch and checked it. He was ready.

"Why?"

"I shall tell you…" -he snapped his watch shut- "Later."