WATSON: I say, Holmes...
HOLMES: Yes, Watson?
WATSON: I've just been offered half a million big ones to dish the dirt on you, old chap, what what what.
HOLMES: Watson, old man, what dirt could you possibly be referring to?
WATSON: Oh, you know, old beanster, those terribly naughty pastimes you pursued as a lad.
HOLMES: My dear Watty, I hardly think they would be of any interest even to my official biographer Jeremiah Jughead.
WATSON: Oh, come now, Holmes, you know that were the public to become acquainted with some of your youthful wayward practices, there would be demands for your head.
HOLMES: Now listen to me, my good man, anything I told you about guffing at school and kissing girls on their belly buttons in the tool shed by the light of a glow worm must never be committed to paper.
WATSON: Oh, really? So you ARE ashamed of your past?
HOLMES: Not in the slightest, dear boy. But these juvenile experiences do not maketh the man or shed any light on the genius that was to follow.
WATSON: Well, there's a turn up for the books. The great Sherlock Holmes attempting a cover up.
HOLMES: You know, Watson, I never thought of you as a greedy man. Or an amusing one, come to think of it, but I digress. I fail to see why you are trying to provoke me on this fine sunny day when Hudders is in full blossom and you are perfectly smitten.
WATSON: Well, Holmes, I just think it's time that you faced your demons. Maybe publishing a warts and all book about you will prove cathartic, put you at ease with your gremlins.
HOLMES: Watty, I am at perfect ease with my misguided misdemeanours, and frankly, doesn't everyone do things in the flame of youth they'd rather not dwell on?
WATSON: Not me, old boy.
HOLMES: Oh, dear, Watson. Game, set and match, I'm afraid. Caught in your own dastardly web of self-indulgence. You forget that you told me ALL your secrets one drunken night in the Limehouse Tavern.
WATSON: Now look here, Holmes, I may have compromised Lucinda underneath the cherry tree, and I may have overfamiliarised myself with Geraldine by the stables, and indeed I may have had wayward hands in the sweet shop on occasion, but I did NOT guff. My dear mama and papa would never sanction such a thing.
HOLMES: Ah, so this is what this is all about. You think I've guffed, don't you? And you want me to apologise.
WATSON: Well...
HOLMES: How petty you can be at times. Exhibit A...
WATSON: What? Toby?
HOLMES: Elementary, my dear teen slayer.
WATSON: But but but...
HOLMES: I fear it was the scotch eggs Hudders fed him for breakfast.
WATSON: Oh, Toby! You poor mutt.
HOLMES: And there he goes again. I fear we shall have to vacate shortly.
WATSON: Toby poos! Please forgive us for feeding you that rotten old salmanella thingie.
HOLMES: Come, Watson, we have work to do. And don't think you're off the hook, old man. Sherlock Holmes may forgive but he NEVER forgets.
WATSON: Crumpet at eleven?
HOLMES: Not 'arf!
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