When living with a man such as Sherlock Holmes, one must always be ready to be on the move. Like an overly active child it seemed as though the man had a tendency to be everywhere at once sometimes; his deductive skills and his tendency to observe every detail potentially lent itself to this. While often times it was a job that demanded their focus this was not always the case, and even a mundane day could be filled with intense scrutiny of detail and numerous accounts of the most trivial facts. Some days it was a little wearisome, but John Watson had grown accustomed to it. The observations, for the most part, were interesting and insightful yet he dare not indulge Holmes, lest he pander to that insatiable ego the man possessed. Rather, he would acknowledge everything said with only a passing remark, hoping that, a bit fruitlessly perhaps, Holmes might move along and let him focus on his own matters.

John Watson was for all intents and purposes a practitioner of medicine, a doctor if one would. Having served in the Army for a time as a medic he knew all of the most recent practices and possessed a great many skills, all of which served both him and his partner quite well. His tendencies to profess the need for cleanliness and orderly behavior however, byproducts of his time in the military, did not serve them quite so well. Where he was more concerned with keeping their homely abode on Baker Street all neat and clean Holmes could care less, letting his things be strewn all over like a twister had just passed through. In many ways it was like they were a married couple, much as he chagrined to think of them as such, with one always pestering the other to keep themselves neat. Though the two men differed in numerous ways they did get on quite well, and as such made an incredible team. Deduction and reason, insight and practical skill, this is what made up the team of Holmes and Watson.

"For a man of such skill in deduction you can't read a clock for your life," Watson retorted, frowning beneath his carefully groomed mustache. Had it not been for the light drizzle that had been coming down all morning he may not have minded waiting so much, but as things stood his clothes were slightly damp and his umbrella dripping steadily from the drops gathered. With some luck now they could get a move on, as he loathed to keep their clients waiting. Trivial job or not it was only right that they as the hired hand be timely, it reflected upon their person well and gave reason for others to hire them as well. Were he not here to move Holmes along somedays, Watson feared, the man would fade into obscurity simply because he'd never arrive to his jobs.

Climbing into the carriage after Holmes, Watson took the seat opposite him and removed his hat, placing it across his lap as he collapsed the umbrella as well. The journey out to the more rural parts of London wouldn't take terribly long, but when they were already behind schedule he was feeling a bit agitated already. Peering out the window and knocking against the wall to signal the driver to move, Watson looked back at his companion with a disconcerting frown. "Yes, well... I did not expect a woman of her... Standing to be quite so crafty, perhaps this time I'll keep a tighter grip on my wallet," he replied stiffly, not amused by past events. He was certain Holmes had at some point mentioned his tendency to gamble, as how else could Ms. Adler have known? Habit or not he would not be making bets with that woman again, his poor savings simply couldn't suffer another hit like that. "You say that as though she's some apathetic beast, Holmes. She seemed agreeable enough last time we met, theft of my money aside."

To think that Holmes had so willingly agreed to come out here, even with the knowledge of her being here, it was simply delightful. How long had it been since they had seen one another anyways? Months? Irene couldn't remember the exact time, but the events surrounding it were very vivid in her memory; the dress she currently wore was a gift from that Mr. Watson, or rather the money she had gotten from him. What a delightfully foolish man he had been, though she had a distinct feeling that he wasn't liable to make the same mistake twice. But what of her dear friend Sherlock? He never changed and thus she expected little out of him, yet nevertheless their reunion would be an entertaining one. She would, as always, poke and prod at his front as an aloof, cold and calculating detective, always looking for the one hole in his armor. What to him was no doubt a slight nuisance to him was a game to her, one that she was determined to win at. 

"I can't say, it depends on how tenacious my friend is feeling today," Irene responded casually, smiling back at Mary, "I don't imagine he'll be long however. My friend will be here, have no doubt of that, as nothing on God's green earth will keep him from seeing to a job. My only real question is how will he arrive here?" Holmes always found a way, whether it was in a carriage, walking, via bicycle or some other means. She could even recall one time where he had stowed away on the back of a donkey-driven cart, only to try and arrive on time for one of his boxing matches all those years ago. How delightful those times had been, she would so love to see him put up his fists again. "Do try not to worry so much my dear, he is an incredible man. This mystery of ours will be solved in no time, I promise you that."