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"Ha!" Holmes cast down the newspaper. "Watson, I must inform you of a great scientific breakthrough that will revolutionise the usages of a once-precious metal."
"Must you?" Watson focused on his own paper; his sour mood at the poor performance of his racehorses demanded that no mad flatmate impose on him right now.
"You recall that case about the crutch. Well, my boy, no-one will murder for it now."
Despite himself – that same litany of his life with this man – Watson looked up, quizzical. "That much aluminium? Worth more than one perfectly-cut jewel?"
"It had been, yes. But American chemists have finally unlocked the secret of coaxing aluminium from bauxite ore." Holmes indicated a small column in the back of his paper. "They can now do it rapidly, and more importantly cheaply. That metal will soon be worth no more than a tulip bulb after the mania."
A surge of panic ran through Watson. Oh God, his investments, he had to –
"Don't look scared, mother hen. I've been following this story for months." Holmes retreated behind the paper again. "I've been forging your signature on orders to your broker to sell your aluminium holdings and roll the money into duller, steady commodities like zinc and borax."
As always with Holmes, Watson didn't know whether to hug him or strike a blow.