Holmes And Watson Best Quotes

Work is the best antidote to sorrow, my dear Watson.

The two of us, we're the best kind of disaster. Apples and oranges. Well, more like apples and machetes.

You take this cold, remarkable, difficult, dangerous, borderline psychopath man, and you wonder what might have happened to him had he not met his best friend, a friend that no one would have put him with – this solid, dependable, brave, big-hearted war hero. I think people fall in love, not with Sherlock Holmes or with Dr. Watson, but with their friendship. I think it is the most famous friendship in fiction, without a doubt.

It appears that I am willing to put with many things for the sake of Jamie Watson . . . I can tell he’s hiding a laugh when he curls his mouth in like he’s eating a lemon. Sometimes I say terrible things just to see him do it . . . He flagellates himself rather a lot, as this narrative shows. He shouldn’t. He is lovely and warm and quite brave and a bit heedless of his own safety and by any measure the best man I’ve ever known. I’ve discovered that I am very clever when it comes to caring about him, and so I will continue to do so. Later today I will ask him to spend the rest of winter break at my family’s home in Sussex . . . Watson will say yes, I’m sure of it. He always says yes to me. – Charlotte

Not that Dr Watson wasn't benign - he was one of the best souls in the Empire - but a man didn't get to be her uncle's right-hand man without a good uppercut and the stamina of a draft horse.

But it appears that I am willing to put up with many things for the sake of Jamie Watson. He is fond of watching old episodes of The X-Files, which is, to the best of my understanding, a show about a rather appallingly dumb man who is nevertheless very attractive, and aliens.

Watson, there are those rare people who elicit behaviour from us that others may not. Let me suggest that you were one man on the battlefield, another with your patients, a third altogether with Mary and perhaps a fourth in my company, for example?' 'No, Holmes. I am always myself. Well, perhaps I smoke less around Mary.' He smiled at this. 'But whatever the situation, I try always to be the best man I can be.

You would not call me a marrying man, Watson?” “No, indeed!” “You’ll be interested to hear that I’m engaged.” “My dear fellow! I congrat----” “To Milverton’s housemaid.” “Good heavens, Holmes!” “I wanted information, Watson.” “Surely you have gone too far?” “It was a most necessary step. I am a plumber with a rising business, Escott, by name. I have walked out with her each evening, and I have talked with her. Good heavens, those talks! However, I have got all I wanted. I know Milverton’s house as I know the palm of my hand.” “But the girl, Holmes?” He shrugged his shoulders. “You can’t help it, my dear Watson. You must play your cards as best you can when such a stake is on the table. However, I rejoice to say that I have a hated rival, who will certainly cut me out the instant that my back is turned. What a splendid night it is!

Are you in law enforcement?' he said. 'No,' said Bernie, 'Why do you ask?' 'Because of your companion here,' Mason said. 'If he's not in the K-nine corps he should be.' Oh, Mason! You don't know the half of it, whatever that might mean. I flunked out on the very last day! The leaping test, Mason! And leaping's my very best thing! Was this a good time for a demonstration? Perhaps a quick leap right over Mason's head and then scurrying back to where I was, no time wasted?... Bernie turned to me. 'K-nine. That would be like Sherlock Holmes walking a beat.' A complete puzzler. I couldn't make anything out of it. Bernie laughed and gave me a quick scratch between the ears. 'Which makes me Dr. Watson.

We had been out for one of our evening rambles, Holmes and I, and had returned about six o’clock on a cold, frosty winter’s evening. As Holmes turned up the lamp the light fell upon a card on the table. He glanced at it, and then, with an ejaculation of disgust, threw it on the floor. I picked it up and read: CHARLES AUGUSTUS MILVERTON, Appledore Towers, Hampstead. Agent. “Who is he?” I asked. “The worst man in London,” Holmes answered, as he sat down and stretched his legs before the fire. “Is anything on the back of the card?” I turned it over. “Will call at 6:30--C.A.M.,” I read. “Hum! He’s about due. Do you feel a creeping, shrinking sensation, Watson, when you stand before the serpents in the Zoo, and see the slithery, gliding, venomous creatures, with their deadly eyes and wicked, flattened faces? Well, that’s how Milverton impresses me. I’ve had to do with fifty murderers in my career, but the worst of them never gave me the repulsion which I have for this fellow. And yet I can’t get out of doing business with him--indeed, he is here at my invitation.” “But who is he?” “I’ll tell you, Watson. He is the king of all the blackmailers. Heaven help the man, and still more the woman, whose secret and reputation come into the power of Milverton! With a smiling face and a heart of marble, he will squeeze and squeeze until he has drained them dry. The fellow is a genius in his way, and would have made his mark in some more savoury trade. His method is as follows: He allows it to be known that he is prepared to pay very high sums for letters which compromise people of wealth and position. He receives these wares not only from treacherous valets or maids, but frequently from genteel ruffians, who have gained the confidence and affection of trusting women. He deals with no niggard hand. I happen to know that he paid seven hundred pounds to a footman for a note two lines in length, and that the ruin of a noble family was the result. Everything which is in the market goes to Milverton, and there are hundreds in this great city who turn white at his name. No one knows where his grip may fall, for he is far too rich and far too cunning to work from hand to mouth. He will hold a card back for years in order to play it at the moment when the stake is best worth winning. I have said that he is the worst man in London, and I would ask you how could one compare the ruffian, who in hot blood bludgeons his mate, with this man, who methodically and at his leisure tortures the soul and wrings the nerves in order to add to his already swollen money-bags?” I had seldom heard my friend speak with such intensity of feeling.

Sherlock Holmes and his trusty associate Watson were on a camping trip. They had gone to bed and were lying there looking up at the sky. Holmes said, “Watson, look up and tell me what you see.” “Well, I see thousands of stars,” he replied. “And what does that tell you?” asked Holmes. “I guess it means we’re going to have another nice day tomorrow. What does it mean to you?” “To me, it means that someone has stolen our tent.

the memory of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who created the best and wisest man we ever knew.

The separation of crucial and incidental, the backbone of any deduction, can be hard for even the best-trained minds. That’s why Holmes doesn’t run off based on his initial theories. He first does precisely what he urges us to do: lay the facts out in a neat row and proceed from there. Even in his mistakes, he is deliberative and Holmeslike, not letting System Watson act though it may well want to

So what if somewhere, back a hundred years and change and across the Atlantic Ocean, some other Watson made best friends with some other Holmes.