Watson is not the slightest bit enthusiastic about being given a quick service by Trevor and I, now that we have the opportunity to do so. He argues that I know not what I am doing (which, I suppose, is not as far from the truth as I would like it to be) and that Trevor is a stranger to him and that, in that case, for our host to look at his workings would be an invasion of privacy. I feel that he is being ridiculous and tell him as much.

"Victor Trevor is my friend," I tell the robot firmly. "And we are his guests. Not only is your behaviour unjust, it is absolutely disgraceful. Now, I suggest that you turn yourself off and permit us to have a look at you."

He attempts to back himself closer to the wall behind him.

"Watson, I have not the patience for this nonsense. If we continue to fight you like this, we are both going to catch cold, standing about as we are in wet clothing. Now, I beg of you, trust me - I shall see that your civil rights are not breached."

The robot acquiesces (very grudgingly) and switches himself off. Thank goodness for that! Now we can finally get to work.

"You certainly know how to make your friend listen," Trevor notes, as he makes a start on one of the fan covers to Watson's back. "I must say I'm impressed - I was starting to think he'd never back down."

"He never would," I reply. "Not if he thought that he could get away with it. But he hates to watch a friend suffer and so I knew that he would put our health before his own feelings."

Trevor nods. "Clearly a good friend to have. I've got this fan uncovered now, Mr. Holmes. Could you take this screwdriver from me and pass me the can of condensed air?"

"What is the fan like?" I enquire.

He shakes his head. "Full of dust, fibres - probably from his coat - and goodness knows what else. It's no wonder he was feeling so ill. But this should do the trick. Can you get the other cover off?"

I comply promptly and then watch my friend work. He is happy to demonstrate the procedure to me, so that I shall be able to give my companion the same treatment at home. Should he protest, I can always argue that it is no different to him giving me a bath, when I was suffering from exposure to cold and ailing as a result. Not that I am going to mention the occasion to our new friend.

Watson sighs and opens his eyes with a blink when I press his power button. He then draws a deep breath and releases it slowly.

"Does that feel better?" Trevor asks.

He nods and beams a smile. "Very much. Thank you. Now all that I need is some oil. I am sure that my overheating has reduced the lubrication to my insides. That is, I am thirsty."

"How do I give it to you?"

"In a cup, please," says he in a perfectly serious tone. "A disposable one would probably be best. At home, I have my own cup."

This is news to me, but Watson has always had the run of the kitchen since he commandeered it upon his move to Baker Street.

"Let me just show Mr. Holmes where the bathroom is and give him a chance to get out of his cold, wet clothes," Trevor requests. "Unless... Jeeves, could you please show Mr. Holmes into the guest bathroom - not the shower room - and fetch him a change of clothes from his room? Thanks. Come with me, Doctor Watson."

I thank our host, urge him not to forget his own requirements and then follow the butler bot upstairs. I shall indeed be glad to warm up and a hot bath would be like a gift from Heaven.

The bathroom is grand and quite traditional, with a large, roll-top bath which I can easily stretch myself out in. I do not remember confirming that I have not used a modern shower before, but perhaps Trevor thought that I might require more assistance with the controls than I would be comfortable in requesting - which is likely correct. I really should thank him for his thoughtfulness.

Further exploration of the room brings to light a lavatory, which is situated behind a partition. I approve of this - it is almost as if it were in a separate room, as would have been the case in my day. There is also some sort of a heater in the room, on the feature wall, which I immediately turn up. Ah! Much better! Aside from the sound of the howling wind and the rain hurling itself upon the windows, this room is quite cosy now.

While I am removing my clothes, Jeeves steps inside the room (clearly, nobody has ever thought to program respect for privacy into a robot) with a fresh suit, shirt and undergarments - quite impressive, I suppose, seeing as he has probably never before seen Victorian-styled underthings (I know from experience that they are unusual and difficult to come by). With my back to him, I hasten to pull a towel about myself.

"Is this everything, sir?"

I request for him to bring in my slippers and begin to run the bath. Once I have all that I require, I shall securely lock the door before removing the remainder of my clothes.

When I finally slip into the bath, having added a substance called 'bubble bath' (a novelty for me, as I usually use bath salts when I am at home) to the water, it feels wonderful! Warm, soothing... good! The scent of eucalyptus and mint makes me feel much more awake and clear of mind.

Watson is the first to greet me, when I emerge from the bathroom. He tuts when he sees that I am still drying my hair with a towel, but I insist that - aside from the damp hair - I am quite dry and warm.

"Then you feel better, now, old boy?" he asks.

"Very much, yes. And our host?"

Watson nods. "Oh, he bathes much faster than you do. He is already downstairs. He was going to ask one of his servant bots to wait for you, but I insisted. But how are you?"

Here is the Watson that I know! I smile. "I can assure you that I am much better for a hot bath. It was just what I needed."

"Good! Dry your hair, then, and we shall rejoin Mr. Trevor."

We find Trevor in the sitting room, with the fire lit and the curtains drawn. The sound of the weather does not seem to be as loud as it was while I was in the bathroom.

Trevor smiles and urges us to sit down.

"Did you enjoy your bath, Mr. Holmes? I thought that you might find it easier - and more relaxing - than a shower."

I confirm that he is correct while I make myself comfortable. The sitting room is cosily furnished and delightfully warm.

"I was going to give you a tour. Would you like one now, before dinner?"

This might be a good idea. In my day, the detail on the doors of each room would provide indication enough of the function of the room behind - in a modern building, doors tend to be identical. I would not want to become lost.

Our new friend is happy to show Watson and I around, ensuring that we both know where everything is. We begin at the top of the house and work our way down again.

The robot expresses a keen interest in the vast library and so we step inside. Fiction takes up approximately a quarter of the book collection, while more than half of the shelves are taken up with forensic science and engineering. Yes, this collection also interests me.

"You're welcome to borrow a book or two," Trevor tells us. "But I've got more to show you; do you like films?"

"What sort of films?" I enquire carefully. Some of the things that Lestrade has subjected me to are enough to make me want to say that I most certainly do not.

Trevor chuckles and leads us to a room just down the passage from the library. It is just like an old-fashioned cinema! To one side is a bar, complete with snack making devices and an electronic larder. The rest of the room is filled with leather theatre chairs, with an impressive screen to the very front.

"I do have one or two classics," our friend says, modestly. "To Kill a Mocking Bird, Arsenic and Old Lace, War and Peace, numerous works of Dickens... Every film that Bogart ever starred in..."

"I rather like the sound of Arsenic and Old Lace," I admit. "What is it like?"

He chuckles again. "It's a comedy about two nice old ladies that kill people. But I think To Kill a Mocking Bird might be more to your taste. Perhaps we could watch both, while you are here, and then you can decide for yourself. You might also like the Enforcer."

That sounds like a good idea and I say so. With this agreed, we leave the cinema and begin to make our way towards the sitting room. I am told that dinner will soon be served.

Upon our return to the warm and comfortable sitting room, I note that the sounds of the storm are becoming quieter, with fewer crashes of thunder.

"It will probably rain for most of the night," predicts Trevor. "But the weather should be fine, tomorrow. Doctor Watson can go fishing to his heart's content and you can go riding. I might come with you, actually - it's been quite a while since I went riding on horseback."

Not as long as it has been for me, I am willing to bet.

Dinner is even better than lunch. Again, Trevor has clearly done his research, for the starter is a dish of oysters apiece (my favourite), served with a glass of white wine; which is followed by pheasant and a duck pie (game birds are another of my preferences), which is served with a glass of red wine and finished off with a cheeseboard, brandy and fruit. All perfect choices!

When we have finished our dinners, Trevor and I take our brandies and go with Watson into the cinema. I have never before watched a film in a modern cinema and I cannot help but be interested. Watson seems just as intrigued, though he is not very enthusiastic about the choice of film. Apparently, he is of the opinion that I only hold an interest in unpleasantness, which is not entirely true - I have, after all, sat through Calamity Jane and My Fair Lady (without falling asleep), at Lestrade's.

Trevor has recommended the Enforcer, a Bogart film. It proves to be a good choice, as it is about the early days of gang crime in America and the subsequent investigative work. I know not quite how accurate it is, but it is both interesting and entertaining, so I shall simply have to do some research of my own, later, so as to satisfy my roused curiosity.

When the film ends, Watson complains of feeling weary and excuses himself to the charging room, into which his charging station has already been installed. He declines the offer of being shown the way a second time by our host, insisting rather proudly that he knows the way. With that, he bids us both a somewhat brusque good night and walks away.

"I do apologise for my friend, Trevor. I have never known him to behave in such a manner, before."

Trevor pats my arm. It's all right. He's been feeling ill and he's tired; he'll probably be his old self, tomorrow. Now, what about you? Do you want to sleep?"

How should I answer? I am tired, but I doubt that I could sleep - when I have nothing to occupy my mind with, my thoughts return to my absent friend, the real Doctor Watson, and thus sleep does not come easily.

"Not particularly."

"Well... do you play snooker? We've got a games room, just off from the sitting room. Actually, we've got an antique billiard table, but I don't know how it's played."

I do. my Boswell and I have played, once or twice, in our younger days - it was Watson who took it upon himself to teach me and, for some reason, I have held on to the memories of those games.

"I believe I remember the rules, should you desire to learn."

It would appear that Trevor would like nothing more. That settled, we make our way to the games room.