WATSON: I say, Holmes.
HOLMES: Yes, Watson?
WATSON: Did you see that rat just toddle across the shagpile to the fireplace?
HOLMES: Nonsense, my dear quack. There are no rats in this house.
WATSON: But Holmes, I saw it.
HOLMES: It was not a rat, old chap, it was a mouse.
HOLMES: By the name of Ivor. Purchased but two days ago for a most interesting experiment.
WATSON: Really? Then why is he running free? Has he escaped what what what?
HOLMES: Ivor is merely searching.
WATSON: What for? The source of the Nile?
HOLMES: Very good, Watson. For you. No, he is searching for the optimum place of well-being within this room.
WATSON: But Holmes, why on earth would you want to know that?
HOLMES: Because, old bean, great thoughts are only thought when one is at the height of one's well-being.
WATSON: Another crackpot theory that will find its way into the bin, if you don't mind me saying.
HOLMES: Oh, really? Then consider this, Watty Botty. Your mood swings of late have been severe to manic, is that right?
WATSON: Well, I wouldn't say that, old man. It's just Hudders and I are going through a difficult period in our acquaintance.
HOLMES: Don't be disingenuous, Watson. You've been a thoroughly miserable fellow and awfully bad company since Hudders denied you regular visiting rights.
WATSON: Good Lord, Holmes, is nothing private in this house?
HOLMES: You wear your heart on your sleeve, dear boy, and judging by your sleeves, you need a thorough scrub and a radical rethink.
WATSON: We'll work it out. Anyway, how does that confounded rat fit into my love life?
HOLMES: Watson, were you aware that the Mus musculus - that's the common house mouse to you - is possibly man's best friend? Its calming qualities are next to none. And if Ivor finds the right spot in this room, I shall park your armchair there forthwith and await a transformation which will return you to the bloom of youth and then all will be well again in this disparate household.
WATSON: But Holmes, that's amazing. If true. Why, the scientific ramifications of such a discovery could lead to the introduction of a treatment for the alleviation of all kinds of nut jobs, pardon my French.
HOLMES: D'accord, mon petit charlatan.
WATSON: Come again?
HOLMES: If the cap fits, old fruit, wear it.
WATSON: Wait! Our little furry friend has curled up in front of the fireplace. That must be the optimum setting what what what. Here, give me a hand with this armchair, old bean.
HOLMES: Two, three, four...
WATSON: Good Lord! I think Ivor's become entangled in one of the legs.
HOLMES: Watson, you drizzle cake, you've just squashed him!
WATSON: Surely not. Not our Ivor!
HOLMES: Do you know how expensive a half decent Mus musculus is these days? This is coming out of your wages, make no mistake.
WATSON: Into every life, a little sadness must fall, or whatever it is.
HOLMES: I was just beginning to bond with the little fella. And now he's dead.
WATSON: Que sera sera, old mucker. Oh, yes, that's much better. I suddenly feel as if all my cares have shrunk.
HOLMES: It took me two hours to train him not to mess on the parquet.
WATSON: Despair. Despair. What care I of despair? This pair is not for despair. Ontological or existential. Be gone, you foullest of rats. Be gone!
HOLMES: Quite incredible how attached you can become to such a slight rodent.
WATSON: Hudders! Hudders! Come here, there is much to discuss. I've been a selfish fool but I shall atone in no uncertain tones. From now on, only roses and chocolates, my sweet. Holmes, you're a brick. How can I ever repay you?
HOLMES: Cut down in his prime by that bungling numbskull of a physician...
WATSON: Coming, my sweet. Coming. Crumpet at eleven, Holmes?
HOLMES: Wake at twelve. Poor Ivor.