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John Watson rubbed his eyes wearily and summoned the last fragments of his patience. "Alright, run it by me one more time. You did what?" Sherlock Holmes was, for some unfathomable reason, sopping wet and covered in soap suds. His clothes were plastered to his skinny frame and he stood dripping in front of Watson's armchair, peering down at his friend through his sodden fringe. "I ran through a car wash." He explained, calmly, for the third time. John sat back in his chair, his eyes closing despairingly, and asked the question again. "Why?" "Chasing a suspect." "And it didn't occur to you to go around the car wash instead of through it?"