I said, as we tucked into a hearty breakfast of poached eggs and bacon the following morning, “another case successfully concluded. I don’t know how long it’s been since we’ve been in a position to say that.” “Indeed, Watson. I had thought my days as a consulting detective were long behind me, but I must admit – the whole experience has proved most invigorating.” As Holmes speared a forkful of bacon, I could see there was something else behind his eyes, some emotion that he was battling and did not wish to give voice to. I wondered if perhaps he was suffering a modicum of regret. Was he now, after all this time, beginning to have second thoughts about his retirement? I dared not think that he might be persuaded to return to the city and his old life as a sleuth. My own mood had lightened considerably following the conclusion of our adventure, even if I remained a trifle unsure of Mycroft’s manipulative methods. The man had hardly covered himself in glory, and in truth, I couldn’t help feeling that Grange’s death might have been avoided if only Mycroft hadn’t chosen to use him as bait.
