Sherlock Holmes: The Definitive Collection -  Arthur Conan Doyle, Stephen Fry

At the opening of the Musgrave ritual, we were told


An anomaly which often struck me in the character of my friend Sherlock Holmes was that, although in his methods of thought he was the neatest and most methodical of mankind, and although also he affected a certain quiet primness of dress, he was none the less in his personal habits one of the most untidy men that ever drove a fellow-lodger to distraction. Not that I am in the least conventional in that respect myself. The rough-and-tumble work in Afghanistan, coming on the top of a natural Bohemianism of disposition, has made me rather more lax than befits a medical man. But with me there is a limit, and when I find a man who keeps his cigars in the coal-scuttle, his tobacco in the toe end of a Persian slipper, and his unanswered correspondence transfixed by a jack-knife into the very centre of his wooden mantelpiece, then I begin to give myself virtuous airs.


Five stories later


"I will be at your service in an instant, Watson. You will find tobacco in the Persian slipper."


But for celebrating continuity and call-backs


"The alarm had reached Scotland Yard by this time, and Mr. Forbes, the detective, came round at once and took up the case with a great deal of energy."


I'll take the rebounding brick of tagging the police as energetic by in-world characters, like some kind of praise, that keeps on coming back and get's all the more insulting and hilarious on each repeat.