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Clint, Jessica, Francis I believe I may have broken the toaster. Please forgive me.



And possibly the microwave.

I do believe I am in need of some sort of employment while in Storybrooke.

I do not suppose that the hospital is in need of a doctor, even one from another time?

If I may have the attention of Sherlocks #2 and #3. The numbering I am using is in reference to arrival here, so please refrain from arguing. Yes, I know one of you is from the days of Victoria. I simply do not care.

Joan Watson is not at your disposal. You both have your own Watsons, inferior though they may be, and it does not trouble us if they are here or not. You cannot go about using her as their stand-in. She has a life of her own and, when she chooses, remains my partner.

I have, of course, discussed this with her, so do not think I am dictating anything she would not agree with.

Likewise, the bees on the roof are my bees and therefor off limits.

Thank you and good day.

I hear one of you likes murder.

Not murdering, but...

Let me try this again.

How does one become a consultant with the police and would you be willing to take a fourteen year old on as an assistant?

No more Sherlocks.

I need a nap.

I was told you were here, Holmes.

Which makes me even more convinced you had something to do with this.

This is delightfully efficient as a communication method. I needn't listen to anyone at all.

I require a Watson, if one is present. And a wrench, seven hoses of variable size, and a dog.