When I first met Watson, he was ill, underweight, and his clothes did not fit him. They were somewhat worn and in dull colors, very much like the man himself. I could read the history of illness and lack of income in every worn spot on his cuffs, in every extraneous wrinkle of loose material.
Much as I failed to appreciate the depths and richness of Watson at that first meeting, I failed to anticipate what sort of appearance he might have when not ill and not poorly dressed.
It was some months after the first time Watson accompanied me on a case before I learned differently. Watson found himself in funds (a lucky wager at his club), and with the weather turning bitter, went to a local tailor to have a winter coat made up for himself.
I was utterly unprepared for the effect when Watson wore the final product for the first time. It fit his healthier frame impeccably, showing off the broadness of his shoulders and the trimness of his figure. The tailor had provided a complimentary scarf as an accompaniment to the coat. Whether by coincidence or design, one of the colors in its weave exactly matched the hue of Watson’s eyes.
I noted every detail as I completely lost the thread of thought I had been pursuing at the time.
That was the winter clients first started flirting with Watson. This, at least, I foresaw without any difficulty – and forestalled with equal alacrity.