[Sherlock's more corporeal form forced him to breathe on his tea in attempt to cool it. The method had little effect, but it was habit at this point. He sat in his armchair across from the Shade, crossing his legs and resting his saucer on his leg. Not the finest of etiquette, but Sherlock liked to think the host was exempt from those sorts of rules. Though he thought himself exempt from most rules.]

It's hardly high grade, but it's the best red tea the corner store has to offer at the moment.

[Fortunately, it was easier to get imported tea in the City than it was to get imported lager.]