"I have been shot at, stabbed, and seen my own arm torn from my body upon the hostile battlefields of India and Afghanistan, and yet none of those terrors compare in my estimation with that of driving through London with Holmes at the helm."
Mycroft paused in her narrative, and Holmes half-opened his eyes. “The plans have been stolen, I see,” he mumbled. “Who is Cadbury, and what has he to do with the matter?”
I looked, astonished, towards my friend, leaning placidly with his elbows on the arms of his chair and his fingertips joined together. Inspector Lestrade appeared to share my astonishment; Mycroft Holmes did not seem disturbed.
Just as Holmes' knee crashed hideously into his opponent's solar plexus, a scythe-shaped blade shrieked across the room towards me, narrowly missing my face as I jumped backwards and levelled my cannon at the menace.
