"Certainly," says Watson, slipping his pocket watch inside his waistcoat. He looks every bit the well-to-do doctor, dressed in grey and leaning on his finer cane (the one that does not conceal a sword, seeing as musical concerts are not typically a most dangerous affair) with his hat set at a rakish angle. "There's a hansom cab waiting outside."

He starts down the stairs, calling over his shoulder, bemused, "If you still remember the meaning of 'outside,' after all this time."