— Are you tweeting?
— No.
— Well, that's what it looks like.
— Of course I'm not tweeting. Why would I be tweeting?
— Give me that.
— What? No. What are you doing? Get off. What?
— Give it here. "Back on terra firma.."
— No, don't read them out.
— "Free as a bird."
— God, you're such a spoilsport.
— Will you take this matter seriously, Sherlock?
— I am taking it seriously. What makes you think I'm not taking it seriously?
— Hashtag, "Ohwhatabeautifulmorning."
— What are you doing here?
— As ever, I'm concerned about you.
— Yes, I've been hearing about your "concern".
— Always so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?
— Oddly enough... No.
— We have more in common than you'd like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer. And you know how it always upset Mummy.
— I upset her? Me? It wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft.
— No. No, wait... Mummy? Who's Mummy?
— Mother. Our mother. This is my brother, Mycroft.
— No. We'll have to get rid of that.
— "We"?
— He looks ancient. I can't be seen to be wandering around with an old man.
— This is a matter of national importance. Grow up!
— Get off my sheet!
— Or what?
— Or I'll just walk away.
— I'll let you.
— What do we say about coincidences?
— The universe is rarely so lazy.
— Let's do deductions. Client left this while I was out, what do you reckon?
— I'm busy.
— Oh, go on, it's been an age.
— I always win.
— Which is why you can't resist.
— I find nothing irresistible in a hat of a well-travelled anxious, sentimental, unfit creature of habit with appalling halitosis. Damn.