WATSON: I say, Holmes.
HOLMES: Yes, Watson?
WATSON: Do you think there is life after death?
HOLMES: Why do you ask? Isn't this one enough for you?
WATSON: It's just there's so much pain and suffering. It'd be nice to think that there's a reward waiting.
HOLMES: My dear quack, you have no idea what pain and suffering is. You've never been shot at, knifed, raped, robbed or died a slow death through lack of food or warmth. Just be grateful for what you've got.
WATSON: It's just...
HOLMES: Contrary to popular Watsonian rectal philosophy, the world DOES NOT revolve around you, it merely tolerates your incessant whining and self-obsessive behaviour.
WATSON: I say, old bean, that's a bit harsh.
HOLMES: Quite mild, actually, and verifiably true.
WATSON: I was talking theoretically, old man. And also the fact that... (groans) there seems to be a poisoned dart protruding from my diaphragm.
HOLMES: What?! Oh, so there is. I wonder how that got there?
WATSON: Am I going to die, old chum?
HOLMES: Possibly in the physical sense. Judging by the angle of trajectory, I'd say it came from... that direction. Teddy!
WATSON: Teddy?! From next door?!
TEDDY: Yes, sir, Mr Holmes?
HOLMES: Come out from the fireplace. Now have you been playing bows and arrows again?
TEDDY: Yes, sir, Mr Holmes.
HOLMES: I see. Would you mind removing that arrow from Watson's diaphragm?
TEDDY: Certainly, sir, Mr Holmes.
WATSON: You mean... Ow! Oh, gosh, look, Holmes, it's a sucking blubber... rubber sucker. Good Lord! I'm saved! Heavens!
HOLMES: Thank you, Teddy. Now be a good lad and call Hudders, would you? Watson's in shock.
TEDDY: Right away, sir, Mr Holmes.
WATSON: Oh ho, not a poisoned dart, after all. Ha ha. Silly me, always imagining the worst. Awfully sorry, Holmes. What a terrible fretting irrelevance I've become.
HOLMES: That's what becomes of an idle mind. Have you thought of becoming a Scout leader? Showing strapping young lads how to tie knots and hunt wild stag beetles at camp? That should knock all that egotistical balderdash out of you.
WATSON: I say, what a spiffing idea. We could set up camp in Epping Forest and cook bangers and mash on the stove by the lake and sing Ging Gang Goolie Goolie Goolie Goolie watch ya Ging Gang Goo Ging Gang Goo then make a tree house and catapults to kill lizards and snakes and creepy crawlies with. Then after that we could build a boat to explore the island on the other side and capture and interrogate any natives we might find, perhaps even sell a few for good money at Camden Market.
HOLMES: Oh, dear. I think the camphor's starting to kick in. Sometimes, Watson, I wonder what would've have happened to you if I hadn't plucked you from the depths of suburban obscurity. I do believe you'd still be living with your parents, playing with your train set and reading Treasure Island for the thousandth time.
WATSON: Ah, yes. My beloved train set. Took me seven years to build and just half an hour to burn.
HOLMES: Yes, along with the house.
WATSON: I do wish you wouldn't keep bringing that up. I wasn't in my right mind then, as you know. And just what's wrong with reading Treasure Island as many times as I like? It takes me to another place, provides me with an inner peace not to be had from the grim bedlam of this earth. And don't forget my toy soldiers. Many a time I re-enacted Agincourt. They were wonderful times.
HOLMES: Which just proves that some men never grow up.
WATSON: If dear mama could see me now...
HOLMES: And they dare to muse on immortality.
WATSON: If papa hadn't chosen to conceal his identity from all and sundry from the moment I was born...
HOLMES: And ask that others take them seriously.
WATSON: If dear gran hadn't mysteriously disappeared after dropping me off head first at the police station...
HOLMES: I really don't know what the world is coming to.
WATSON: If I hadn't spent those long winter months locked in the tool shed...
WATSON: Yes, Holmes?
HOLMES: If you promise not to be late for lunch, you can go and play bows and arrows with Teddy.
WATSON: Oh, can I? Oh, thank you, Mr Holmes. You really are the bestest host.
HOLMES: And don't talk to any strangers.
WATSON: Right you are, Mr Holmes.
HOLMES: Run along now.
WATSON: Ta-ta. Teddy! Teddy! Hold the fort, I'm on my way!
HOLMES: (sighs) You can take the man out of the boy but you can't put the boy in the... oh, whatever. Hudders! Hudders! Where is she? I need a strong pot of tea and some crumpet after all this. Let's hope that psychiatrist Dr Bumfenbaum can sort out Watson when he gets back. In truth, I don't think Watson's been right since that piano fell on him on his way to the tuck shop. Oh, well. Que sera sera as they say. Crumpet at eleven!