John sat on the couch and I, naturally, took it upon myself to figure out anything from his current status.
“So she has left you, therefore I can say that I knew it wouldn’t last more than six months. Now, I don’t want to intensify the tension and supposed depression a normal man like you might feel in this ‘emotionally’ disastrous situation but I can safely and honestly say ‘I told you so’.”
John looked at me with awe and muttered “How...did you…”
“Please, John. You polish your watch every day.”
“So?”
“It doesn’t have the shine of a John-Watson-style polished watch on a Saturday morning. Obvious by that bit of mud by the 12 o’clock mark that you got after I dropped the rock in that puddle after we left the Chinese shop yesterday. Any fool would have seen-“
“But how in the world could that relate, in any way whatsoever, to my breaking with Ashley? There is nothing wrong with a bit of mud that would spark your little… that scanning thing you do-“
“Observing.”
“Whatever it’s called! There is no possible relation between thi-“
“Actually there is a possible relation.”
John stood there half-wondering and half-hating at me. He closed his mouth, as it had stood open halfway in the word “this”, and stared at me with startled curiosity.
“Would you like me to elaborate?” He nodded. “Great! First thing I notice as soon as I see you is your watch. My mind naturally goes to the useless accessories people wear nowadays. It’s dirty- tiny bit of dry mud by the 12 mark. I remember how it got dirty yesterday by the puddle and how you never saw it, but I did. Then I think of how it should have already been cleaned by now and I tell myself ‘There is no way he got the same shade of mud on the same place’, so I conclude there is something wrong with you. I remembered when your mother died, you did not polish your watch for a month, not once. Then I remembered when your father was diagnosed with cancer, another month of non-polish. So I conclude something has gone terribly wrong with a loved one. Nothing’s wrong with me, your closest friend, and nothing has happened to Mrs. Hudson except that hip has been giving her trouble again so it might be high time for her doctor’s appointment with Sir Rowland, her physician. So what is it? Ahhh, then I remember you yelling over your mobile while talking to your obviously frustrated girlfriend in the bathroom--that was no secret John, I would’ve been surprised if Buckingham hadn’t heard of how hard you’re trying to keep her interested—and I remembered how you left in startled spirits from the Chinese, where I dropped that rock in the puddle and you got your mud mark on the golden watch Mrs. Hudson gave you last year for your birthday. Then, I wake up and come to the living room and see you there, on your seat, with the mud mark and an obvious attempt at trying to hide all that happened last night after you received her text.”
“How did you possibly know about the text?”
“You sit on your bed when you receive a text or a call and turn the light on. The space beneath my door had been at least four shades darker before…” I grabbed the phone that lay in the table in front of him “…12:51. ‘I don’t think we can keep this any longer, we’re done.’ And you have that stupid guitar note as your ringtone. Any flaws?”
“I did polish a watch.”
“’A’ watch?”
“The one I never wear.”
“Fantastic!” yelled I, and stood up, glad we had that whole situation behind, and eager to tell him of what had just come in the mail. “I suppose now that I got it off your chest we can get to the really exciting part of the day, right?”
