Holmes’s Greatest Frustration

I admit I have hesitated in putting fountain pen to paper for this particular adventure of Holmes and myself. It is one of the hardest for my brain to comprehend. Spurious clues scattered, the leads mismatched, confusion at every turn—but I get ahead of myself. Continue reading

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The Case of the Spinning Wheel, aka Keeping up with Sherlock Holmes

It was evening on the first of October and I had organized a small celebration for Holmes and myself in the back room of our local brewpub, The Staggering Bullfrog. I often had stopped in for a pint after a particularly puzzling adventure with Sherlock, on my own of course as Holmes had many other commitments to attend to. I’d sit on a stool and scribble my notes onto napkins and matchbooks and check a few names of streets and neighborhood scoundrels with the tender of bar, Blind Alfred. Blind Alfred didn’t pour drinks well, but he’d pour you another one free if you told him you spilled it, so I found myself there many a night spilling several drinks. Continue reading

Coming Back!

Sherlock will be back up and running at Under The Gun theater in January. In the meantime we’ll be transcribing Watson’t notes from the last few mysteries shortly. Why has it taken us so long to get these adventures up on the blog? In the words of Hugh Laurie – It’s a Mystery.

The Case of the Octopus Pet

“Love does strange things to a bloke” These words have been echoing in my mind of late. They were spoken to me by one of the Baker Street Irregulars, a man that may have been made entirely of dust by the look of him, though I am sure they have been spoken by others as well. The statement is more than true, it is inescapable. My love for my late wife did strange and wonderful things to me but this concept goes beyond that of man and wife. A man’s love of the bottle can change him. Love can turn something that we merely desire into something we crave or cannot live without. Likewise as we grow accustomed to a thing it can become a necessity and we can learn to love them. With Sherlock I will never know which came first, his need for mental stimulation becoming an addiction which, when not stimulated with a good case would lead to other means of cerebral exercise, or if somewhere in his youth he received his first small conundrum which, upon its resolution, caused such euphoria that this became a physiological need. It is easier for me to pinpoint my own frailties, though only in retrospect, and it is just that which I have set out to do.

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