I've always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage. Thank you for the final proof.

— Smoking indoors, isn't there one of those... One of those law things?
— We're in a morgue. There's only so much damage you can do.

Stop boring me and think. It's the new sexy.

— I wish you could have worn the antlers.
— Some things are best left to the imagination, Mrs Hudson.

He's writing sad music. Doesn't eat, barely talks, only to correct the television. I'd say he was heart-broken, but, well, he's Sherlock. He does all that anyway.

— OK, the smoking, how did you know?
— The evidence was right under your nose, John, as ever you see, but do not observe.
— Observe what?
— The ashtray.

— We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British nation. Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on!
— What for?

— How's the hip?
— It's atrocious, but thanks for asking.
— I've seen much worse, but then I do post-mortems.

Look at them. They all care so much. Do you ever wonder if there's something wrong with us?

— Shame on you, John Watson! Mrs Hudson leave Baker Street? England would fall.

— You know my friends are so wrong about you. You're a great boyfriend.
— OK, that's good. I always thought I was great.
— Sherlock Holmes is a very lucky man!

Amazing how fire exposes our priorities.

— I'm not stupid, you know.
— Where do you get that idea?

— I'll be mother.
— And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell.

— Listen, has he ever had any kind of girl-friend, boyfriend, a relationship, ever?
— I don't know.
— How can we not know?
— He's Sherlock. How will we ever know what goes on in that funny old head?

All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage.