“I was charged with all this information when I called upon Holmes next evening.”—The Adventure of the Illustrious Client
“‘I was charged with all this information when I called upon Holmes next evening’—House, there’s a lot left; you do realize that—?”
“Okay, okay, I’m reading. ‘He was out of bed now, and he sat with his much-bandaged head resting upon’—”
“If you have this memorized, why am I reading it?”
“Your voice turns me on.”
“The pain hasn’t come back. You know what the statistics show—”
“I’ve done the research. I’m not completely stupid.”
“Gonna keep going or what?”
“‘Why, Holmes,’ I said, ‘if one believed the papers, you are dying.’”
“I opened the curtains and looked out into the garden, remarking that it was a fine night with a bright half-moon.”—The Adventure of the Blanched Soldier
The phone rang at midnight. Wilson’s hand, fumbling, eventually caught the receiver.
“’Lo,” he mumbled thickly, and waited.
“Howdy!” came the answer, too cheery.
“It’s midnight,” Wilson growled, unnecessarily. He flicked on the light.
“What d’you want?”
“Amusement, alcohol, leg muscle. World peace is for Cameron and kittens.”
Wilson snorted. “Amusement’s first on your list?”
“Why are you talking?”
“If we’re asking obvious questions—”
“If you were with your wife, you’d be whispering.”
“Hanging up now.”
“My couch is bigger.”
“This a size contest? According to Cosmo, length—”
“It’s an invitation.”
There was a click. Wilson switched off the light. Smiled. Slept.
“Holmes was lost in thought.”—The Adventure of the Three Gables
House was behind his desk, bouncing his ball with the handle of his cane, lost in thought, when tickets appeared beneath his nose.
“Truck show Friday,” cried the holder of said tickets gleefully. House looked up, and the cheerful, disgustingly youthful smile he was faced with helped him forget about his shitty life. He grinned.
In the crowd, tie notably absent, Wilson loosened up. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, balancing a drink in one hand and a bag of buttered popcorn in the other, he didn’t look like a middle-aged man with two divorces under his belt—he looked like a friend.
House grabbed a handful of Wilson’s popcorn, crunched the kernels between his teeth, and when Wilson glanced at him, smile flashing in the stage lights, he laughed.
“While they were talking a sudden cry of pain was heard.”—The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire
During their bet, while House was earning his time off from clinic duty and proving that he was an addict, he broke his hand. Wilson never quite knew what weapon caused the damage, but from the X-rays he determined that it was probably a heavy, blunt object, rounded at one end. He wouldn’t have admitted it, but the level of pain House endured hurt him. When he taped House’s fingers he was as gentle as possible—as if he were treating a child—and whether it was from guilt or from something else—well, he did not know that either.
“It may have been a comedy, or it may have been a tragedy.”—The Adventure of the Three Garridebs
House sat through “Psycho” and laughed. Uproariously. Loudly. At every scene. Wilson eyed him with each outburst, wondering whether or not to ask—he waited until the credits, when House’s giggles faded. There was dead silence from the opposite end of the couch for the bits which were actually funny. Wilson switched off the set.
“I can’t hear the soundtrack over your cackling, psychopath.”
House punched him in the arm, harder than necessary, grinning. “Loosen up.”
Wilson looked at House, who was remarkably happy and had no pills. He glanced back at the darkened television screen and laughed. And laughed.