Rule, Britannia
an excerpt

He gingerly opened the oilskin wrap, handling the documents as if they were the most fragile thing in the world. I must confess that at that point his actions reminded me very much of those of professor Pierre Aronnax confronted with a new specimen, as of yet unknown to terrestrial scientists.

After a few moments, he picked a few sheets of paper from the bundle and mutely handed them back to me. I accepted and began to read.

It was in the late autumn of 18_, after a lengthy period of convalescence of which I have written elsewhere, that my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes was met with a not unremarkable case in the resolving of which his methods and extraordinary talents were presented with an opportunity to shine and which he has given me permission to relate. As with numerous other private cases from that time, I have preserved reasonably full notes, and my friend's own records have been given to me for perusal (which is in itself a remarkable occurrence where Mr. Holmes is concerned, for he is, when the fancy strikes him, an impossibly private man).

Sherlock Holmes had been extremely busy. It seemed at times as if all of London, both its criminals and unsuspecting victims, had been waiting for him to return to his usual and well-known position. However, after the successful resolving of the case of the missing Colonel's daughter in the pleasant Lancashire countryside and the interesting problem of the wealthy pawnbroker's lamp in Kent, there came a certain lull in the clamour for my friend's attention and skill at problem-solving of all kinds, leading to the inevitable 'boredom' and the dark moods it caused in him. The morocco case remained, thankfully, untouched.

It was on the evening of the 23rd of November of that year, a bitterly cold and most unfriendly foggy day, that I was startled from my comfortable reverie by an exclamation of surprise from my companion, who had up to that moment been sitting still in his chair, sipping brandy and smoking that foul-smelling mixture of shag tobacco which has become notorious through my records of his exploits. In a moment he was on his feet, pipe and glass forgotten, listening keenly at the door with an expression of rapt concentration on his ever pale face. He stood in this manner for almost half a minute, then he returned to his seat and continued his activities as if no interruption at all had occurred. I had heard nothing, no voices or creaking footsteps on the stairs, but knowing my friend as I did, I had no doubt a full and quite probably rather fantastical explanation was forthcoming.