WATSON: Dash it, Holmes. Snap out of it what what what.
HOLMES: Every year, it's the same, Watson. February 14th comes and goes without so much as a flutter of the letter box.
WATSON: Oh, come now, old boy, it is but a bit of harmless piffle. You and I know it doesn't mean a thing.
HOLMES: That's easy for you to say. You got a card.
WATSON: Yes. So I did.
HOLMES: You'd better read it out. Maybe it will alleviate my descending gloom.
WATSON: Oh, righty-ho. Let me see. "Dear Hotty Watty! I have been besotted by you for decades now. Will this be the year you and I finally form an honest union before the Good Lord? Just thinking about your stethoscope on my soft, yielding flesh gives me goose bumps all over. My bosom yearns for your full examination. I would dearly love to have your babies. So whaddya say?"
HOLMES: (chuckles) Oh, dear, Watson. Perhaps it is better not to receive these abominable things after all.
WATSON: But what can it mean, Holmes? And who could possibly have sent such a thing?
HOLMES: The meaning is self-elementary, my dear Watson. As to the sender's identity, one can but speculate that it is either a patient or someone who knows you very well.
WATSON: But but but... Holmes...
HOLMES: Yes, Hotty Watty?
WATSON: Now stop that. I'm flustered enough as it is. Be serious for a moment, will you?
HOLMES: But of course. What did you want to ask me?
WATSON: The sender of this lewd love letter... it wasn't, by any chance,... you, was it?
HOLMES: (guffaws sharply, catches pipe before it burns a hole in trousers) My dear quack, I can assure you that the great Sherlock Holmes does not indulge in such frivolous activities, but you may be getting warmer in your search for the culprit.
WATSON: Eh? What's that?
MRS HUDSON: Will that be all, Mr Sherlock?
HOLMES: Yes, thank you, Hudders.
MRS HUDSON: Then I shall retire to continue my duties.
(HOLMES SPORTS A WRY SMILE)
WATSON: What... you don't think...
HOLMES: Indeed I do, old chum.
WATSON: But that's preposterous! Mrs Hudson? Wanting my babies? Wanting a full examination? Why, she must have taken leave of her senses.
HOLMES: Not really, Watson. I have observed the way she becomes extremely coy in your presence.
WATSON: Crikey! You mean it's not a prank?
HOLMES: Far from it, Watson. The poor deluded maid is totally bewitched by your being.
WATSON: But Holmes, I mean... surely... indefatigably... well, obviously... I say, you know I think I may have to um... ask Mrs Hudson a few things about provisions for next week what what what.
HOLMES: Good for you, Watson. Time waits for no man. Indeed such an occasion merely proves to rub that fact in. You know, I have this mental image of a dog chasing its own tail, happy as a lark, until he gets lucky and bites himself and then runs off howling in agony, and the next day he's chasing his tail again. So maybe ignorance truly is bliss.
WATSON: What's that, Holmes?
HOLMES: Nothing. Now run along and make hay while the sun shines for it is my destiny, today at least, to ponder the emptiness of our existence.
WATSON: Ah, yes. Good. Spiffing. Um... well, see you later, then.
HOLMES: Of that you can be sure, Watson. Fare ye well in the path of Cupid's arrow and may it land in its intended place. Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!