The Adventure of the Dying Detective

Mrs. Hudson, the landlady of Sherlock Holmes, was a long-suffering
woman. Not only was her first-floor flat invaded at all hours by
throngs of singular and often undesirable characters but her remarkable
lodger showed an eccentricity and irregularity in his life which must
have sorely tried her patience. His incredible untidiness, his
addiction to music at strange hours, his occasional revolver practice
within doors, his weird and often malodorous scientific experiments,
and the atmosphere of violence and danger which hung around him made
him the very worst tenant in London. On the other hand, his payments
were princely. I have no doubt that the house might have been purchased
at the price which Holmes paid for his rooms during the years that I
was with him.

The landlady stood in the deepest awe of him and never dared to
interfere with him, however outrageous his proceedings might seem. She
was fond of him, too, for he had a remarkable gentleness and courtesy
in his dealings with women. He disliked and distrusted the sex, but he
was always a chivalrous opponent. Knowing how genuine was her regard
for him, I listened earnestly to her story when she came to my rooms in
the second year of my married life and told me of the sad condition to
which my poor friend was reduced.