And now for something completely different. We’re not all about healthy lifestyle, writing tips etc. We’re enjoying some quick flash fiction too – the sillier the better 😉 It’s not going to change the world or cure modern economy. But if it will make at least one person smile – well, mission accomplished.
“Watson or Whatsoff? Lestrade solves the case!”
My friend and associate, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, was a man of irregular habits. It did not surprise me then, when at one fine May morning I received a message from him. The short note (handed to me by one of the Holmes’ street urchins), required me to meet my friend at the Scotland Yard ‘immediately’. I left my half-finished breakfast, folded neatly my half-read Times, and hurriedly left the Baker Street apartment.
To my utmost surprise and confusion, upon arriving at my destination I wasn’t taken to the office. Instead, a young officer on duty, when asked about Mr. Sherlock Holmes, had led me to the cells section. There I found my friend, but upon such circumstances! He was behind the bars, placed in an ordinary cell, like some common criminal! I stared in astonishment at his slim figure, sitting on the hard, wooden bench. He was smoking his pipe, and the night spent in the jail visibly added the haggard and tired look to his aquiline features. A strong sensation of pity overflew my heart.
‘My dear Holmes!’ I exclaimed.
‘Dear Watson, so you have come’ he said standing up from the bench and approaching these cold bars that divided us. ‘Quickly! There’s not much time for explanation! I can hear Lestrade’s steps! Please, my friend, you must speak to him..!’
His fervent outburst got interrupted by the entrance of Inspector Lestrade. After very formal greetings (I daresay, even cold on my part), he invited me and Holmes to his office. To my outrage I witnessed Holmes being cuffed on leaving the cell, by one of the police officers.
‘Please, do sit down gentlemen’ Leastrade invited us with all the cordiality of a host. ‘You must be wondering why…’ he started, but I interrupted him.
‘Why is Mr. Sherlock Holmes undergoing such disgraceful treatment?!’ I exclaimed with passion.
‘Calm down, good doctor. I will explain everything’ answered Lestrade in his usual sluggish way. ‘Mr. Holmes is under arrest. He had been caught red handed on breaking into the house of a prominent London citizen – Mr. McDullen. What’s more…’
‘I was investigating a case!’ yelled Holmes, furiously.
‘What is more’ continued the Inspector, showing a small object on his outstretched hand, ‘this is what we had found in his pocket.’
I leaned to have a better view. I was looking at the biggest pearl I have ever seen in my life. It was in such an unusual shade of pink, too!
‘It belonged to the murdered gentleman’ explained Lestrade.
‘So Holmes not only robbed, but killed him too?’ I exclaimed in state of shock.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Watson!’ snapped Holmes in a most irritated manner. ‘I was tracing the real murderer. The pearl was an evidence in the case!’
‘Would you be so good as to answer a few of our questions?’ Lestrade turned to me, entirely ignoring Holmes.
‘I will do my best’ I promised.
‘Has Mr. Holmes had recently any financial difficulties?’
I pondered over it for a while.
‘There wasn’t much work for him lately, so I believe that can be the case’ I answered.
‘Just one more question’ said Lestrade. ‘Had Mr. Holmes’ use of cocaine been recently increased?’
I looked at the prisoner. His stare, fixed on my eyes, seemed to be pleading. He was my best friend – but that doesn’t mean I was to lie because of him.
‘Unfortunately, I must answer positive.’
‘So everything is clear!’ Lestrade’s face lit up with self-appreciation. ‘As Mr. Holmes couldn’t afford new doses of the drug, he decided to get the money anyhow. When he broke into Mr. McDullen’s house, he had been caught by the owner himself. Mr. Holmes killed the witness and tried to escape through the window. Not knowing, of course, that one of our people, constable Johnson, is watching the back of the building.’
‘Watson, you surely don’t believe this..!’ shouted Holmes, but I could hardly hear him, as I was speaking to the Inspector Lestrade and congratulating him on such an amazing deduction.
‘Lestrade, you fool! You will regret this! Watson, you idiot!’ that was the last I heard from my friend, before the constable dragged him out.
To the present day it fills my heart with sadness and deep grief, to think of such a great mind deteriorating into madness and crime.
As I am finishing these lines, I can recognize the steps of the porter. He is here to move my belongings from the Baker Street flat. In a strike of luck it turned out that Mr. Lestrade is in search of a companion to share apartment with. My eyes escape from the written pages to throw the farewell glance to the living room; a silent witness of so many strange visits, exciting adventures and highly interesting conversations… Oh, well. At least Lestrade doesn’t play violin.