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[devoutish]

Yeah?

[That's it, that's all you get.]

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[devoutish]

All right, he's free to do that. That's not gonna bother me much.

[jumpthegun]

Does that mean you're open to the opportunity for others, then? Because I know this doctor bloke...

[devoutish]

[In a faux-hurt tone:]

Now what have I ever done to him? Nothing, surely.

[jumpthegun]

Surely nothing. He's got a bit of a temper when he gets going, though.

[devoutish]

Dislocate my shoulder and break my arm, was it?

[jumpthegun]

Maybe only the dislocation now. Hurts like hell, but that's easy to fix in a few days.

[devoutish]

Would it have been the same arm, or one broken and the other dislocated? I've been wondering.

[jumpthegun]

Same arm. Both would just be cruel. Mind, it would've been your dominant arm.

[devoutish]

Have you been paying enough attention to notice which one that is?

[It's his right.]

[jumpthegun]

You're not terribly subtle about it. D'you know which is mine?

[He's ambidextrous, but strongly favors the left for his everyday tasks.]

[devoutish]

Sure. You're left-handed, but you do all right with the other as well.

[jumpthegun]

Had to learn to be. The Army doesn't like to teach left-handed shooting separately, and the bullet that got me was through the left shoulder. Couldn't use that arm properly for weeks.

[devoutish]

That was when you left?

[jumpthegun]

Yes. Not by choice.

[A surgeon with a shaky hand and a soldier with a limp aren't much good to the Army.]

[devoutish]

I wouldn't think so. I imagine it drove you mad.

[jumpthegun]

It did. And then I met a man who drove me mad, instead, and that was far preferable.

[devoutish]

[Good God Watson, no wonder everyone thinks you and Sherlock are sitting in a tree.]

Myself - I prefer not being mad at all.

[jumpthegun]

[Look, there are many kinds of love.

It's also a moment to reply to that as he rolls his shoulders uncomfortably and thinks about what he'd written about his conversation with Haurchefant... how he felt like he needed a place like Norfinbury.]

Well, there's something wrong with me. I somehow became friends with another bloke who likes to drive people up the walls, myself included. Maybe you're right and I have got a type.

[devoutish]

Don't sell me short, mate. I've got many hobbies.

[jumpthegun]

You've got time for them outside of work, have you? Is it drinking, gambling, or women? Those are the standard 'hobbies' for your age, right?

[devoutish]

[Well okay, to be fair, many hobbies is probably exaggerating a little.]

I don't gamble, and I don't drink much. Women, though.

[He likes women.]

[jumpthegun]

Women are nice. And you're a gentleman, right?

[devoutish]

Dr. Watson, I'm ashamed you would think I was anything else.

[jumpthegun]

Well, you do call yourself a scoundrel, Mr. Solomons.

[devoutish]

Only to men like him. No, I've got respect for women.

[Granted, it's... a 1920s variety of respect, but it could be worse.]