It’s been quite some time since I’ve visited this site.  Boredom and the necessity of waiting for a chemical process to complete has led me to desperate clicks of the mouse. That and an announcement that John had posted something, showing that he’d either worked out the new password I made him or cheated and had it reset.  I had to investigate, of course.

To be honest, I resisted for a time, but it’s painfully dull here at half past midnight.  On the other hand, no one interrupts me or complains about whatever experiment I happen to feel like running; just as long as I clean up afterwards, of course. Molly and I have an understanding. 

Simply as a matter of interest, despite our many years of acquaintanceship, Gervaise still responds with 45% to 60% profanity when answering calls after midnight.  He still has little interest in science for science’s sake, unsurprisingly.

I thought to try phoning John, but if his usual pattern holds true he will be in REM sleep by now and his ratio of profanity would rival Garth’s.  John’s pleasure at solving the password is unlikely to balance his annoyance at being disturbed in the midst of his sleep cycle.  Tiresome, I admit, but he’s even more testy if not allowed a certain daily baseline of sleep.  I’ve tested the parameters over the years in a variety of scenarios, controlled and otherwise, and the results are conclusive.  I’ve charted John’s optimal sleep requirements, as well as his level of performance when sleep-impaired, and it’s quite an interesting study. 

One I cannot share here, as it may fall into one of those categories of things John objects to being made public.  Even semi-public, such as this silly little blog no one even reads.  Well, almost no one. 

My process has completed and the experiment is ready for the next step. 

I still think it was obvious…

bloggerofbakerstreet:

He changed my password.  You make one comment about something being easy to guess (to be fair, there were cat photos EVERYWHERE in her flat), and suddenly it’s a challenge.  I couldn’t be bothered to put much time into figuring it out, but once I started trying combinations of Sherlock-grade insults, it didn’t take too long to get back in.

He left the proper blog alone (more or less.  I suppose that’s as close to admitting it brings in the bulk of business as he’ll get) but decided this would… what, teach me a lesson? 

Obviously it wasn’t a very good lesson, considering how long it’s taken you to work it out. I even provided clues.

For the record, it wasn’t just cat photos, but cat photos all depicting the same breed. Every single one of them. In every room. I still feel somewhat traumatised. 

And I didn’t guess.  I never guess.

bloggerofbakerstreet:

consultinglimpet:

bloggerofbakerstreet:

All things considered, and allowing for your tendency toward melodrama, what you have outlined is a rather impressive logical progression based on your superficial observations.  It would also explain what I initially took to be an inordinately disproportionate response to a bit of mess.

John, I may, indeed, owe you an apology.

However, I’m going to take your threats of bondage at some future date as the result of lingering emotional fall-out, but if you should actually decide to try something of that nature, at least remember to time how long it takes me to get out of whatever restraints you devise. It should prove interesting, I’m sure.

I have, on several occasions in the past, found things you’ve hidden, John, and left them where they were. Including medications. In this particular instance, I was unbearably bored and was actually trying to find any cigarette stashes you might have still had in the flat. When I found your cache of medications, it was briefly diverting, but I also knew I had most likely found everything I was going to find. Of course, I started immediately considering ways to relieve the tedium of having absolutely nothing to do! I won’t go on about how much of a torment it is for me, because you’ve heard it many times before, so I need not reiterate yet again.

Given your emotional state, you may not care to believe me, but I did not, in fact, take all of the medications that were there in your little cache. I won’t say I wasn’t tempted more by some of them than others - I have no doubt that is exactly why you stashed them away in what was, really, a clever spot - however, I only took some of the tranquilisers in an effort to avoid acting on any of the ideas with which I might have entertained myself until your return. I was growing desperate by that point, I will freely admit, and did not anticipate the strength of the effect; I have been very resistant historically.

The rest of the tranquilisers and the pain-killers were in one of my own hiding places; you will now find them in your full med-kit, as I didn’t think it wise to leave them lying about.

When I began this particular reply, I intended to answer your own responses regarding medical care entirely differently; however, now I have considered what you’ve written - both the emotionally-charged exaggerations and the more rational points - and I would rather have you perform any stitching required on my person without anaesthetic than anyone else, no matter what chemical cocktail they might offer. You have, indeed, done so in the past - obviously I survived the experience.

You having made some deal with Mrs. Hudson explains her fluttering about in distress while not, in actuality, doing much of anything. There was a time I might have been surprised, even angry, but I know you better now.

‘The Substance’ was, as I said, brownie batter. It disturbs me that you seem to prefer clinging to the notion that it might’ve been something far more distasteful.

I have rested more than I can bear and Mrs. Hudson has checked on me with exactly the sort of regularity which I can now be sure stems from whatever conspiracy the two of you have hatched. You may not realise it, but I have been enormously patient with your tactics, especially once I realised the full extent of them, and, while I resent them viciously, I cannot deny either their effectiveness or the very real fact that I know you well enough to be sure you will carry out your more genuine threats if pressed.

So, as you can plainly see, I have not pressed. I have, in fact, done as you requested. Please, return at once, this is intolerable.


‘Melodramatic’, says the man with archenemies…  right.

Although, apologies being as rare on the ground as they are with you, I suppose I’ll let that pass.

Right…   alright.  Points and preferences noted; we’ll discuss this further when I return.  I’m in the middle of something now, but I’ll come home, after.

We’ll talk, then.

(I wouldn’t call it a conspiracy, but Mrs. Hudson and I do have an understanding; she’s been most helpful - enthusiastically so, in fact - perhaps I should pick her up something nice from the bakery on the way back…)

I suppose I should have expected the sarcasm; however, in a show of good faith, I will forgo further rebuttal to your commentary and speculation on what you might be in the middle of, considering the situation. 

Good.  Yes, we shall.

(I would, have, and do.)

bloggerofbakerstreet:

consultinglimpet:

Overreacting?  No.  I’m really, really not.  Let me break this down for you, since you are clearly not thinking it through.  I have been led to believe you are an intelligent man, consider: I come home after properly leaving the flat for the first time in a solid month of helping you recuperate from a rather /nasty/ case, to find the place in what appeared to be violent disarray -  I would go so far as to say, looking like a disaster zone – and no response from you when I called out.  When I /found/ you – insensible and clearly drugged with some unknown substance – on the couch, what do you think my first thoughts were?

Do you think my first expectation was that you had simply thought it a good time to skulk around the place, poking around until you found my medical reserves and then had a merry old time drugging yourself to the gills and destroying our home, only to fall into a half-sleep on the couch when you had worn yourself out?  Or do you think maybe, just /maybe/ I had thought someone had attacked you, and forced drugs into your system to finish the job.

You don’t make friends easily, Sherlock - god do I know that - but you have a long and plentiful list of enemies, and there are enough among them with some devious intelligence, themselves, to /plot/ something like that; it wouldn’t be a far cry to think someone had decided they’d had enough of you and made it look like an accident brought on by your own hand.  A perfect murder, you might say – and /you/ wouldn’t be around to solve it – all it would take is a bit of knowledge about your history or personality, and an eye on the flat to see when I left.  So no, Sherlock – I’m not overreacting.

Although clearly it was my mistake to think you might show /some restraint/ or even, possibly – I know, a stretch for you – respect enough not to touch items I /clearly/ put away with the intent that you not touch them.  Items that I should not have /had/ to hide in the first place.  That elevated expectation of you was clearly my own folly; I’ll just have to let Lestrade move /himself/ next time – or drag you with me.  Possibly gagged.  I’m sure that would be best for all parties involved.

As for my use of invective, and communication – be glad I didn’t respond to this (or anything) last night; I am at least calm enough not to want to wring your neck, now.  It would be counterproductive, after all.

If I have to redo someone else’s handiwork, well then, I’m qualified to do it – at least you’ll have the benefit of a local, then – otherwise, I could just stitch you up, here, and give you a belt to bite on.  Stitches without anesthetic can be quite difficult, after all, but it’s not like I haven’t had to render similar aid in the past.  (You have proven to me I can’t trust you with drugs of any sort in the house; that’s not my choice, that was entirely yours.  I /tried/ to work around you, you clearly won’t let me.)

You did a fair job cleaning before I got back again, at least (Mrs. Hudson understands consequences as well, that’s why), so thank you for that.  I notice you didn’t touch anything you hadn’t directly affected yesterday, but it’s more than you can usually be bothered to do, so there’s that.  Regardless of what ‘the substance’ was, it was still 1) in the bathroom, and 2) disgusting.  Thank you for removing it.  I put the rest of the cleaning products away before I went to bed. 

I’ve checked in with Mrs. Hudson, and apologized for worrying her; she understands how it can be, sometimes, though, so that’s all sorted.  I suggest you get some rest, today.  Clearly you need it.

All things considered, and allowing for your tendency toward melodrama, what you have outlined is a rather impressive logical progression based on your superficial observations.  It would also explain what I initially took to be an inordinately disproportionate response to a bit of mess.

John, I may, indeed, owe you an apology.

However, I’m going to take your threats of bondage at some future date as the result of lingering emotional fall-out, but if you should actually decide to try something of that nature, at least remember to time how long it takes me to get out of whatever restraints you devise.  It should prove interesting, I’m sure.

I have, on several occasions in the past, found things you’ve hidden, John, and left them where they were.  Including medications. In this particular instance, I was unbearably bored and was actually trying to find any cigarette stashes you might have still had in the flat.  When I found your cache of medications, it was briefly diverting, but I also knew I had most likely found everything I was going to find.  Of course, I started immediately considering ways to relieve the tedium of having absolutely nothing to do!  I won’t go on about how much of a torment it is for me, because you’ve heard it many times before, so I need not reiterate yet again.

Given your emotional state, you may not care to believe me, but I did not, in fact, take all of the medications that were there in your little cache.  I won’t say I wasn’t tempted more by some of them than others - I have no doubt that is exactly why you stashed them away in what was, really, a clever spot - however, I only took some of the tranquilisers in an effort to avoid acting on any of the ideas with which I might have entertained myself until your return.  I was growing desperate by that point, I will freely admit, and did not anticipate the strength of the effect; I have been very resistant historically. 

The rest of the tranquilisers and the pain-killers were in one of my own hiding places; you will now find them in your full med-kit, as I didn’t think it wise to leave them lying about.

When I began this particular reply, I intended to answer your own responses regarding medical care entirely differently; however, now I have considered what you’ve written - both the emotionally-charged exaggerations and the more rational points - and I would rather have you perform any stitching required on my person without anaesthetic than anyone else, no matter what chemical cocktail they might offer.  You have, indeed, done so in the past - obviously I survived the experience. 

You having made some deal with Mrs. Hudson explains her fluttering about in distress while not, in actuality, doing much of anything.  There was a time I might have been surprised, even angry, but I know you better now.

'The Substance' was, as I said, brownie batter.  It disturbs me that you seem to prefer clinging to the notion that it might've been something far more distasteful. 

I have rested more than I can bear and Mrs. Hudson has checked on me with exactly the sort of regularity which I can now be sure stems from whatever conspiracy the two of you have hatched.  You may not realise it, but I have been enormously patient with your tactics, especially once I realised the full extent of them, and, while I resent them viciously, I cannot deny either their effectiveness or the very real fact that I know you well enough to be sure you will carry out your more genuine threats if pressed.
 
So, as you can plainly see, I have not pressed.  I have, in fact, done as you requested.  Please, return at once, this is intolerable.

bloggerofbakerstreet:

consultinglimpet:

Found John’s secret cache of medications.  His methods of concealment have vastly improved.  Obviously not enough, though.

Feeling very pleased. Good.  Very good.  Very.  The display on my mobile is inordinately bright.  I don’t recall setting it to be that bright.

Hungry for something chocolate.  Brownies.  Shouldn’t be beyond my capabilities to make.  What’s the saying? ‘Cooking is just chemistry you can eat’

I am superb at chemistry. 

This… explains so much.

Initially, I had thought one of the irate bakers from several cases back had finally sought their revenge - and possibly a badly planned attempt to poison you - but I see it was just the result of your attempting to poison yourself.  You are lucky 1) that I did not return earlier (or you /would/ have had your stomach pumped, like it or not), and 2) that you did not actually /require/ your stomach to be pumped.  You are cleaning all of this up, yourself. 

Yes, even…. whatever ended up in the bathroom.

And the next time you need medical care beyond something a plaster can fix, guess who’s going to be taking a trip down to the surgery?  Oh yes, to sit, and wait with all of those /boring/ people, and then let some unknown doctor - who you will actually have to watch your attitude with, because I assure you they will not take it - stitch you up, or whatever it is you’ve done to yourself this time.  Because clearly I can’t trust you with medical supplies in the flat.

Remember that conversation we had about consequences?  Here, enjoy a firsthand example.

John, you are overreacting. 

Threatening to foist me off on strange physicians should I become injured again is beneath you.  You’re rarely satisfied with the first-aid given by others and have many times simply redone their handiwork once I was in your care once more.  I hardly see you tolerating some bumbling hack bandaging or stitching me, given your previous behaviours. Nor do I see you being comfortable with our having an inadequately stocked first-aid kit.

Furthermore, refusing to reply to my texts or calls is childish. 

Although, I must say, quite sincerely, I was amazed at your colourful grasp of angry invective.  Mrs. Hudson came up after you’d gone, blushing and yet smiling, as well. 

Unfortunately, the first words out of her mouth were to ask what I’d done now.  She also refused to help me with cleaning the kitchen, which I suppose is no surprise, but does seem a bit harsh.  I am in a leg-brace, after all; and, considering how she fussed over us before, I would have expected her to insist on helping.  Obviously my expectations were erroneous.

While your thoughts on the state of the kitchen were droll, they were an exaggeration.  Though I’m a bit unclear how the cookie dough got onto the ceiling, I did manage to climb up onto the kitchen table and scrape it off. 

Despite your innuendo, that was brownie batter on the floor of the bathroom.  I spilled some down my leg and into the top of the leg-brace, and went into the loo to take off and wipe down the leg-brace.  Consequently, I decided to make cookies with the remainder of the brownie batter.  It didn’t go as I anticipated.  I was lying on the sofa, contemplating what I may have missed in the conversion from batter to dough when I must’ve dozed off.  Next thing you’re cursing fit to shame a stevedore, prodding at me and flashing lights in my eyes, all the while asking questions without allowing me to answer.

John, I did listen when we spoke of consequences.  I’ve cleaned the mess from the kitchen and loo.   Mrs. Hudson’s come back and made me lie down, but she said I didn’t do badly at all.  She asked where you were again, too.  Clearly she’s concerned for you.

Found John’s secret cache of medications.  His methods of concealment have vastly improved.  Obviously not enough, though.

Feeling very pleased. Good.  Very good.  Very.  The display on my mobile is inordinately bright.  I don’t recall setting it to be that bright.

Hungry for something chocolate.  Brownies.  Shouldn’t be beyond my capabilities to make.  What’s the saying? ‘Cooking is just chemistry you can eat’

I am superb at chemistry. 

Bored.

The fairy lights on the seasonal shrub are blinking out of sequence. 

Mrs. Hudson is singing along with the Christmas carols she’s been playing for weeks now; worse, she’s singing them all off-key, save for Jingle Bells.

John’s either not hiding any presents in the flat, or he’s somehow hidden it/them too well for me to find; therefore, he must not be hiding anything in the flat.

Mycroft has resorted to threats after only 57 texts - a qualified win, as he is statistically likely to actually carry out said threats.

May be forced to drug Mrs. Hudson.

Today I have proof that Molly is actively avoiding allowing me to meet her new boyfriend.  She was walking with him, probably just had dinner together and he was walking her back to her office; when she saw me approaching, she stopped short and did an about-face.  Hauling her beau bodily around the corner, she sent him off and then scurried back around and tried to pretend nothing had happened.

When I pointedly asked her who it was she was trying so hard to hide from me, she blushed, stammered, denied it, and then claimed she had forgotten something before, literally, running away.

I’m not entirely certain whether I am more offended by the fact that she seems to think this will somehow work, or disgusted that the gormless Mr. Addams is allowing her to do it.

John is going to have to speak with her, since she doesn’t squeak and flee from him.

As far as I’m aware, anyhow.

bloggerofbakerstreet:

That scam artist was pathetically obvious, YOU could have caught him out, John. And I eat enough to fuel my body - more than, lately, as we’ve discussed - so stop making me sound like a dyspeptic 5 year-old. Stop assuming what everyone thinks, too.

I’m not sure how I feel about the stress on ‘you’, there.  Somehow I feel like you’ve made the exchange with ‘Anderson’, here.  Or ‘a blind dog’.  Or similar.  It’s not complimentary.  In any case, that’s not the point; the point is you did, and generally you wouldn’t bother if it wasn’t interesting in some way or another - which usually means at the very least that you feel kindly towards someone. 

I’ll stop treating you like a dyspeptic 5 year-old when you stop displaying the traits of one.  In fairness, though, you have gotten better (and you may note, the pestering has also gotten less frequent in relation to that.)  You are now eating enough to fuel your body - most of the time - before you were barely eating enough to survive.

You realize, that’s pretty rich coming from a man who assumes he knows what people are thinking the majority of the time.  In any case, it’s a pretty fair assumption towards ‘what people are thinking’ when they keep telling you.  Or making ‘jokes’ about it.  Or assumptions.  Really, should I start ignoring the facts in front of me?  Here and you tell me to use your methods…

I wouldn’t make that exchange - particularly Anderson - for You if someone held a gun to my head! Although, you’d probably insist on finding a good home for the blind dog.  Of course I am capable of feeling kindly toward people.  Now and then.

Yes, John, I have noted the reduction in pestering, along with the increase in clothing I can no longer wear. Monday. Nikolai.

I don’t assume; I deduce, John! You might want to consider that some of those imbeciles who like to make jokes, or snide comments are jealous.  Not all, obviously, but some.  I wish you didn’t care what they thought. 

bloggerofbakerstreet:

Everyone always complains about how difficult I am to live with. We should discuss your motown and those jumpers sometime. And the horrible telly torture. I put up with a lot, too.

I’m going to go out on a limb here, and assume you are being completely, indignantly serious, here. Let me suspend my incredulity for a moment.

I’m sorry, have my jumpers contaminated your food supplies? (With no warning, I might add, resulting in a very close call.) Has my enjoyment of Motown somehow blocked your normal usage of the bathroom ‘until the results were conclusive’, so you had to sheepishly beg usage of Mrs. Hudson’s for a week straight? Oh, I know, my screeching, discordant telly watching unapologetically keeps you up all hours of the night.

I see, now. I’m sorry, Sherlock, I’m an absolutely horrible flatmate; how do you put up with me?

Well, I was being serious, clearly you’re indulging in a bout of sarcastic humour. 

  • I moved the contaminated sugar out of its usual spot, to an entirely different cupboard, thinking that would clue you in. Furthermore, I was there on the sofa, you might have asked.  As I recall, that one nurse on duty in A&E gave you her number, so it wasn’t a total loss.  She made you dinner twice, and you didn’t come home till 6:15 AM after the second time.  Too bad about her intolerance for your odd hours, though.  You’d think an A&E nurse would be used to such things. 
  • My original plan wasn’t to conduct that particular experiment in both the sink and toilet, but until I knew if that strain of bacteria was the dangerous version, I thought it best we avoid breathing in proximity. If you will recall, I cleaned everything afterwards.  With bleach.  I paid to replace the towels and bath rug, too.
  • I know very well you’re referring to my playing the violin.  You like the violin-playing.  I’ve also kept from playing between 2 and 8 AM, since our discussion on the subject.  As for the motown, you played that one album so many times that one weekend that I had the songs intruding in my head for days!  I finally deleted them, of course.  
  • You know very well you’re not an horrible flatmate and I know you don’t think I am, either, since you’re still here.  Also, watch Anderson’s face over the next few weeks, on the occasions we’re forced to encounter him; I dosed him with an experimental skin dye that should show up on his face and hands as blue or bluish spots.  Before you complain: You may not have heard him, but at that faked suicide scene in Harley Street he was gossiping about you, saying the only reason you were still sharing the flat with me was I had brainwashed you or was blackmailing you.  He said some other things, but I’ve deleted them; although, I do recall they made me quite angry at the time.  So, prepare to laugh and point.  How’s that for horrible, then? 

You don’t actually know how to just say ‘You’re Welcome’, do you. Yes, I understand all of that, I was just saying, you didn’t have to - it wasn’t— oh, nevermind. I do appreciate it, though, honestly. Thanks.

You already know that you are welcome to the gift, thus it’s redundant to say it, but you didn’t know the rest.  Of course I didn’t have to, I wanted to. 

If it’s that important, then fine.  You’re welcome, John.

bloggerofbakerstreet:

consultinglimpet:

Yes, I’m sorry, the other 109 came after midnight; I see my mistake. I asked how it was going, not for you to give me a play by play of every microbe reaction. Keeping me in the loop is all well and good, but what would happen if you needed me after killing my battery (and…

[continued from your post (since the message cut me off)]:  battery (and sleep), or if I’d gone out and gotten into trouble with no way to get help because my mobile had died… as you’re so fond of saying ‘think it through next time’. (It’s not like you can’t email me on that thing.)

(Also, your askbox seems to be broken. That or you’ve somehow set it so I couldn’t leave you messages for some unfathomable reason, which would not actually surprise me at all.)

I copy/pasted the comment at the beginning of the submittal, to make it easier to respond properly. - SH

Firstly, you never said to stop texting, nor did you tell me your battery was dying.  For exactly those reasons, I would have held off until you’d had the chance to charge it again.  (Emailing on the mobile takes more steps. Inconvenient.)

I’ve done nothing to the askbox, John, other than to allow anonymous asks.  I have not blocked you, which is the only way I know of to prevent you being able to comment or leave asks.  Nor would I, if I knew how.

I made some very interesting breakthroughs and believed you to be interested.  Clearly an error I won’t repeat.  Your battery is safe.  Rejoice.

I did actually send you two messages - which you apparently did not notice in your deluge of texts - one that I was a bit busy and could you just give me the abridged version, and the second that my mobile was about to go. Either you’re not getting my texts again, or you simply didn’t notice them, but I made an effort. I’m not saying not to keep me up to date, I’m not saying not to text me, but that was a bit much overall, don’t you think?

I’m sorry if I jumped to conclusions there, but I wouldn’t put it past you if you thought I was going to complain about something; you have found really creative ways of ignoring me when I have something to say you don’t want to hear.  It must just be Tumblr, then. 

(Emailing from your mobile takes exactly one additional step; I think you’ll live with clicking down to the next contact.  I’m just saying, when you know I’m at the flat, it would save battery life.  You’re the one who keeps going on about how my phone needs to be more accessible and not on the charger all the time - this would help.)

Listen - lets not go down this road right now.  I’ve got a good mood going, you’ve just given me a really nice apology gift - I’m letting it go; you do what you want.

I checked my texts. I did receive one where you requested the abridged version, after which I did give more general updates.  I didn’t receive a text from you about your mobile being about to go.

It was a very exciting series of results.  I’ll attempt to be less voluble in future texts.

I’m certain it’s a failure with Tumblr.

(It’s an extra step I’d rather not take when only one hand is free. Your phone needs to be more new and functional, as well as not on the charger every time I wish to borrow it.  We’ll discuss that later. )

Then keep to that good mood, by all means, and I’m pleased that you enjoyed the gift.  And the note.  Do let it go, then; as will I. 

Do what I want?  What I want is to bring home some of that chicken curry you like.  I’ll even eat some.  Will that do?  Palek paneer, too, or pass?

Yes, I’m sorry, the other 109 came after midnight; I see my mistake. I asked how it was going, not for you to give me a play by play of every microbe reaction. Keeping me in the loop is all well and good, but what would happen if you needed me after killing my battery (and…

[continued from your post (since the message cut me off)]:  battery (and sleep), or if I’d gone out and gotten into trouble with no way to get help because my mobile had died… as you’re so fond of saying ‘think it through next time’. (It’s not like you can’t email me on that thing.)

(Also, your askbox seems to be broken. That or you’ve somehow set it so I couldn’t leave you messages for some unfathomable reason, which would not actually surprise me at all.)

I copy/pasted the comment at the beginning of the submittal, to make it easier to respond properly. - SH

Firstly, you never said to stop texting, nor did you tell me your battery was dying.  For exactly those reasons, I would have held off until you’d had the chance to charge it again.  (Emailing on the mobile takes more steps. Inconvenient.)

I’ve done nothing to the askbox, John, other than to allow anonymous asks.  I have not blocked you, which is the only way I know of to prevent you being able to comment or leave asks.  Nor would I, if I knew how.

I made some very interesting breakthroughs and believed you to be interested.  Clearly an error I won’t repeat.  Your battery is safe.  Rejoice.

asker

bloggerofbakerstreet asked: You really didn't have to, Sherlock, they were entirely too much and you really didn't need to give me anything as an apology, honestly - but /thank/ you. They're really comfortable, and I have a feeling they'll last longer than my last pair. (Don't- I know, I agree, but that doesn't make it any less out of my price range.) The note was a nice touch, too. Thanks.

You should know by now, John, that I rarely do anything I don’t have to, or want to do.  Apologies, as a rule, are pointless; often merely used as a method to ameliorate someone’s mood in order to make them easier to deal with after having offended them. 

In this instance, I was genuinely regretful of having caused you distress and offence in those specific areas we discussed, but you know that such social interactions are very much not my area.  As a consequence, I sought something that would please you, but be more useful to you than a soppy greeting card or something of that nature.  (Really, John, google is useful in some things, but absolutely rubbish in others.)

I observed how long you looked at the shoes, that you tried them on twice, and were reluctant to take them off.  After we left and you refused to purchase them or let me do so, I considered the matter further.  Your current pair of all-purpose shoes have become almost too worn to pass, your dress-shoes are still in good order, but too fine for common wear - as is expected - and I shudder in horror at those old trainers of yours, but I have a favourite dressing gown that’s gone a bit shabby, so I can hardly cast legitimate aspersions without seeming a hypocrite.  These shoes will do for common use, as well as looking smart with slightly less casual wear than your usual, and they should wear well and comfortably. 

Do not trouble yourself over the price, please.  Consider what I spend on grooming products and your worries will fade, I’m sure.  There ought to be a smirk on your face now.  Good. 

I’m quite pleased you enjoyed the note, as well.